


No One Can Hear You Scream

by Shutterbug5269



Series: Alien [1]
Category: Alien (1979), Aliens (1986), Castle, Prometheus (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 80,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shutterbug5269/pseuds/Shutterbug5269
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entry for the Castle Summer Hiatus 2015 Ficathon. It is based on the Novelization for the Ridley Scott Film "Alien" by Alan Dean Foster but with Caskett sharing the role of Ripley.</p><p>Beta Reader: @Cofkett<br/>Cover Art: @Dtrekker</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Chapter One  
Prologue**

* * *

_Castle: Wait, what? You applied to go to Mars? Without me? When?_  
_Beckett: Well, we were fighting._  
_Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"_

* * *

In the empty depths of space, nine quiet dreamers slept, their bodies reduced in both temperature and consciousness to the long cold sleep required for deep space transit aboard the deep space cargo vessel USCSS Nostromo.

But for one of their number, these were not professional dreamers. Professional dreamers are highly paid, respected, much sought-after talents. Only Richard Castle could truly lay claim to that title. Like the majority of us, seven of these eight simply dreamed away without effort or discipline.

Dreaming professionally like Castle did - so that one’s imaginings can be recorded and shared for the entertainment of others - is a much more demanding proposition than most people are aware of. It requires the ability to regulate their semi-conscious creative impulses and organize said imaginations into a form others can relate to, which few outside of their craft recognize as an extraordinarily difficult skill to master. A professional dreamer - in Castle's case, a writer - is simultaneously the most organized of all artists and conversely the most spontaneous, a subtle weaver of thought, spoken word, action and emotion - not straightforward and clumsy like most people, including his other seven fellow sleepers.

Of all, but her husband, Warrant Officer Kate Beckett came the closest to possessing that special potential. She possessed a higher flexibility of imagination compared to their other companions. Coupled with a quick, analytic mind, said traits had served her well as an NYPD homicide detective once upon a time, even before her husband had crashed headlong into her life and began the six-year long, tumultuous dance that had culminated with their wedding day.

Without some form of gainful employment, Kate had felt cut off from the world since the 12th precinct had been subsumed into three neighboring ones after New York's redistricting, coupled not long thereafter by her failed attempt at state politics (little knowing her failure had not been her own, but the result of corrupt political back door scheming). She had always felt that she lacked the true creative spark of inspiration and expression of thought characteristic of a writer like Richard Castle, or a stage actress like his mother, in spite of his constant reassurance to the contrary over the years.

Her work life and self-imposed discipline now revolved around organizing stores and cargo then checking them against a manifest on what seemed an infinite repeat. A life wholly unsuited to either her talents or those of her husband who had steadfastly refused to leave her side and had worked tirelessly to obtain the necessary credentials to accompany her into deep space now that his daughter was fully grown.

Kate Beckett's self-control slipped away when she slept the deep sleep, however. A little more effort along with a greater intensity of self-recognition and she would have made an impressive professional dreamer - or so her husband often told her. In her subconscious during hyper-sleep, however, was where Kate lost her way. Insecurities, fears, darker speculations and emotions slipped haphazardly from compartment to compartment in her mind's eye, ones she had long thought she had put to rest... not the least of which was an oppressive sense of guilt for dragging her husband into this “adventure” as he'd called it when he'd signed up with her.

Captain Elise Kim was the most organized of the ship's crew, even in her dream state. It wasn't that she lacked imagination, but in her heart she was the most practical of dreamers. She was the Captain of the Nostromo and had little ambition for anything loftier than her current role. She was exactly where she wanted to be, which made her dreams far too dull and uninteresting to any not in or aspiring to her profession.

First Officer Tom Richwood was far less disciplined in both thought and deed than his captain, and possessed of even less imagination. His dreams were no exception and tended to be rather sexist and pornographic in nature. He was a competent executive officer as far as his duties were concerned, but -unbeknownst to him - his career had peaked and he would never command a ship of his own. He simply lacked the drive, ambition and personal discipline such a position required.

His case was not helped along by his penchant for inappropriate behavior with female coworkers. He was never blatant enough about it to be caught, but no female on the crew short of the Captain was safe from his wandering eye. Not even Kate had been out of bounds for him, even with her husband's inescapable presence on board. No female ever crewed with him more than twice before requesting a transfer, though only a scant few had bothered to file formal grievances - not enough to cost him his job, but enough to guarantee he would never advance further.

Richwood slept, blissfully unaware that a new complaint awaited him back home, filed by Beckett, Katherine H, ID# 759/L2-01N, and corroborated by Castle, Richard E, ID# 121/C2/01C, nor was he aware that this would be his last cruise aboard USCSS Nostromo. His next stop was the loading docks on Mars station if he was fortunate enough to remain employed at all.

Chief Engineer Mikhail Banhov’s dreams were neither as colorful as Castle's, as pornographic as Richwood's, or even as pastoral as the Captain Kim's. His mind was far too compartmentalized and specialized for such human-centric things to take shape in his subconscious. Which was not considered unusual for a ship’s engineer of his skill level. His darker imaginings, however were less subtle and a lot more ugly.

Most of the spite and contempt fermenting in the darker recesses of his mind was kept well hidden from those he interacted with on a regular basis. His shipmates rarely ever saw beyond the image Banhov projected outwardly, allowing no one a glimpse of the darkness and simmering anger brewing deep within his psyche. In wakefulness his deeply buried impulses rarely materialized, unless he became irritated or angry. Though, even then, most people rarely saw the true darkness that festered like a sickness within him.

Ship's Navigator, Angela Olivera was more more likely to be an inspiration for the dreams and fantasies of the men - and some of the women - she has served with over the years than a dreamer in her own right. She had modeled swimwear to put herself through MIT then dropped out of that life as soon as she had received her first space posting upon graduation. She now made more money than everyone else on the ship, combined (Castle excluded). In hyper-sleep, Olivera's subconscious mind was filled with the mathematical linear equations of inter-system course plots, thrust vectors -both atmospheric and vacuum- and load factors canceled out by fuel considerations. Occasionally her baser imagination toyed with more pastoral pursuits - generally involving Nostromo's captain - but never in a fashion fit to stir the heartstrings of others.

Banhov and Granger often imagined their own paths crossing with hers in a manner that would have infuriated Olivera had she been aware of their desires. Unlike Richwood, however, they wisely confined such unauthorized musings securely to the realm of daydreams, night dreams and hyper-sleep where such inappropriate imaginings belonged. They were well aware that, as Nostromo’s navigator, Olivera was primarily responsible for returning them safely home to collect their pay which was the most attractive outcome that anyone on board could imagine. This simple fact made her the most important person on the ship and only Tom Richwood was foolish enough to even consider upsetting that particular apple-cart.

Engineering Technician Second Class Clint Granger - though he was listed as a mere technician - was every bit as intelligent and competent an engineer as Banhov, lacking only seniority. The two men formed an odd pair, completely different in both temperament and personality, yet they functioned together as smoothly as a well-oiled machine - largely due to the fact that Granger was as easygoing and laconic as Banhov was bitter and potentially volatile and completely lacked any ambition to compete for Banhov's position.

Banhov could rant for hours over any number of topics that pissed him off - his favorite being the state of his and Granger's contracts - to which Granger would merely reply, ‘right’ without further comment. His total lack of passion or vitriol seemed to balance Banhov out. Having such a man to vent his troubles to without judgment helped keep his darker impulses in check to the point where he considered his erstwhile partner in crime and unofficial shrink to be a package deal with him.No other tech wanted to work with Banhov anyway. Captain Kim only put up with his crap because he was the best engineer in the business.

Next there was Ash, the Nostromo's science officer. His dreams were hands down the most linear and organized of anyone on board and the nearest to matching his awakened self. They held neither delusion nor imagination, a concept that would not have surprised anyone who knew his true self - which none of the other crew members did. If asked, Ash would have gladly explained why he would never dream professionally like Castle, but none ever did, in spite the fact that the science officer clearly found discussing such things more fascinating than any of them.

Last, but not least was the cat. Charlie was a very ordinary house cat, or in his case, ship cat. A large yellow, seven toed tom of independent bearing and friendly disposition. He was long accustomed to the vagaries of ship travel and the idiosyncrasies of the humans who called the Nostromo home. Like everyone else aboard, he slept the cold sleep, his mind filled with simple cat dreams of warm, dark places, somebody to scratch him behind the ears the way he liked and gravity-bound mice.

Though certainly none of them but Castle would ever be described as a professional dreamer, all of them had more time to dream in the course of their work than most other people who hailed from planet Earth, despite the slowing of their dream pace by the cold sleep. A deep-space crew has little to occupy themselves in the freezers but to sleep and perchance to dream. Though all but one of them were amateurs, the others had, over time become very competent ones.

As the Nostromo followed its course through deep space on its way back to the Sol system with the refinery it towed, its nine quiet dreamers slept on, little knowing or imagining they were on a collision course with a nightmare.


	2. Awakening

**Chapter Two**  
**Awakening**

* * *

  _BECKETT: And yet you think you could survive being stuck in a space capsule with four other people for a year._  
 _CASTLE: I could if you were one of those people.  
_ Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff" __  


* * *

The Commercial Towing Vessel _USCSS Nostromo_ was a Bison-Class star-freighter owned by the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. In atmosphere her hull weighed in at over sixty thousand metric tons and was almost 800 feet long, including three decks, four holds, stores, engines, and her shuttle, the _Narcissus_. Inhabitants of an earlier age would have been astonished to learn that the _Nostromo_ was towing a considerable quantity of crude oil through the black, encased in its own automatic, steadily functioning refinery, a monstrous bulky form nearly triple the ship's mass. The crude oil being processed within would be finished petrochemicals by the time the _Nostromo_ arrived in orbit around Earth.

Such methods were time consuming, expensive, but ultimately necessary.

Mankind had long since developed cleaner and more efficient substitutes for powering its civilization: fusion and solar power now running all of mankind’s machines. Unfortunately, however, man had yet to find a viable substitute for the additional uses for petrochemicals. Solar plants and fusion engines, while impressive, and much more ecologically friendly than burning coal or oil but could not produce plastics, for example.

The modern world could exist without power sooner than it could without plastics, even with careful recycling. Thus the presence of the _Nostromo’s_ commercially viable, if historically incongruous, cargo of machinery and the black liquid being methodically processed in its tanks as she passed through space en-route to her destination.

* * *

While it possessed consciousness of a sort, the _Nostromo_ did not dream, nor did her artificial intelligence - nicknamed MIRA by the crew - require sleep, or the dreams that were a by-product of sleep, any more than she required oxygen to breathe. Even if she did, such musings would have been fleeting by necessity as she was always at work maintaining the ship's course and primary systems. Not to mention making certain _Nostromo's_ hibernating human crew stayed just that necessary step ahead of death as they slept the cold sleep their jobs demanded.

MIRA’s presence was everywhere aboard _Nostromo_. Her systems permeated every deck and compartment of the vessel, her internal sensors attuned to every circuit, hull plate and strut, while her external sensors actively monitored space in every direction around the ship.

Those sensors fastened upon an electromagnetic anomaly which had gone undetected on the outbound leg of the trip. MIRA thoroughly examined said anomaly, parsed the results of her analysis, ran them again for verification, then reached a programmed decision.

Within nanoseconds, dormant systems began to be activated in series. One by one, lights that had been extinguished for the better part of a year flickered on as life support and artificial gravity powered up and then stabilized throughout the ship.

Diagnostics and internal sensors hummed to life shortly thereafter to verify that all environmental systems were nominal before MIRA would allow the sleeping human crew to be awakened. Sound suddenly sprang to life on the _Nostromo_ to replace the long vacuum of silence that signified her passage from passive to active operations.

* * *

At the very center of the ship, a special room containing nine cocoons of bright white metal and plastic began to power up from stand-by mode as it filled with freshly scrubbed, breathable atmosphere.

Additional lights flared as circuits closed and internal systems engaged, slowly draining the fluid from the pods and drawing their occupants from the near death of hyper-sleep. Once each pod's internal sensors confirmed that their charges within were secure, all nine opened without fanfare as the Nostromo’s crew began to emerge from their pods, naked and dripping wet from the thick preservative fluid that had filled and surrounded their bodies to protect them from the effects of long-term hyper-sleep.

“Jesus, it's cold!” muttered Olivera as her feet hit the floor, disgustedly wiping fluid from her shoulders and sides as she rose from of her pod and began fumbling for a nearby compartment. Using the towel she found there, she began wiping the transparent syrup from her legs. “Why the hell can’t MIRA warm the damn room before breaking us out of storage?" She complained, working on her feet as her eyes fell upon the drawer where she’d dumped her clothes.

“You know why,” Banhov replied, too busy cleaning the fluid from his own body to bother staring at the nude Hispanic goddess that was their navigator, “company policy on energy conservation. Warming the freezer section would constitute an unnecessary power drain in deep space operations. Not that it would matter, it’s always fucking cold coming out of hyper-sleep. You know as well as I do what the freezer takes your internal temperature down to.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s still fucking cold in here,” she mumbled, knowing Banhov was perfectly correct but resentful at having to admit it. She’d never cared much for the engineer. “Oye', MIRA,” she muttered at the sight of goosebumps on her forearm, “let’s have some fucking heat!”

Only scant attention was paid to them as Castle and Beckett toweled each other off, sharing the briefest of touches between them, as if awakening from a night's sleep instead of nearly a year in suspended animation, Castle's broader frame shielding her from the leering eyes of the ship's executive officer.

The two of them were lost in their own little world, an entire conversation seemingly being held through the looks shared between them. Nobody watching Castle and Beckett interact harbored any doubt that they would be finding someplace more private to say a proper good morning to each other after the ship's business was concluded.

Richwood had been the only one aboard foolish enough to even try to interject himself into their shared bubble and the Captain was well aware that he would be paying dearly for that error in judgment when they returned to Earth. Castle was the only soul aboard of independent means, which were considerable if Captain Kim had heard correctly. Enough that he could - and she was certain the company higher-ups feared he would - create a political and PR shit-storm if Kate's complaint against Richwood was not acted upon.

Until then, other than a verbal reprimand from the Captain, her grievance was sealed and confidential. There was no other way to transport Richwood home, and it would create too much tension on the ship otherwise.

Kim slowly toweled herself off, wiping away the last of the cryo-sleep fluid all the while trying not to stare at something the others could not see, something she’d noticed even before rising from her freezer. The console had been specifically placed between hers and Ash's pods so only she and the science officer would see it.

“Work’ll warm us all up fast enough,” she said as Olivera muttered something under her breath, unintelligible other than the odd Spanish curse word. “Stations, everybody... ASAP,” Kim commanded, “I assume you all remember what we’re paid for, besides sleeping away our troubles.”

No one in the compartment so much as smiled, cursed or offered further comment. She was still the captain and out here her word was law. Banhov glanced across to where his partner was sitting up in his freezer.

“Morning, sleepyhead. Still with us?” He muttered to Granger with almost gentle good humor.

“Yo.” Granger replied, even less responsive than normal.

“Lucky us,” Castle quipped with an easy smile as he stretched, barely taking his eyes from Beckett, the fluid grace of her athletic frame turning her own stretches into a more aesthetic movement than any of the others before she began to apply moisturizer to her skin.“Nice to know our prime conversationalist is as garrulous as ever.”

Granger smiled, as verbal as the machines he serviced, which was not at all. It was a running joke between himself and the crew, who were laughing with him at such times, not at him.

Kim herself was doing side twists, elbows parallel to the floor, hands together in front of her sternum. Her former life in the Colonial Marines, readily apparent in her bearing. She imagined she could hear her long-unused muscles squeak as her joints popped. The flashing yellow light monopolized her thoughts, the ship’s way of telling her that something was amiss in Denmark and they been awakened for something other than the end of their journey. She wanted to know why, but not at the expense of needlessly worrying her crew.

Ash sat up and looked around expressionlessly. For all the animation on his face, he might as well still have been in hyper-sleep, but he held his tongue, also noting the flashing yellow light. His concentration was on business, which would not be helped along by superfluous conversation.

“I feel dead,” Richwood groaned on a yawn, still feigning at not being fully awake. 

Banhov glanced over at the XO with exaggerated pleasantness. “You look dead.” He was aware that he probably looked no better. Hyper-sleep tired the skin as well as the muscles.

Banhov's attention returned to Richwoods’s coffin as the exec finally sat up, disappointment registered on his features that both Beckett and Olivera were almost fully dressed, the former's profile nearly blocked from his view by her taller, broader husband. Even the only moderately less sexist engineer thought the man was a pig for trying to ogle another man's wife like that.

“Nice to be back,” Richwood muttered, eyes fixed on Beckett's lace boy-shorts covered posterior as she fastened her bra while Castle was bent over to retrieve his own clothes and the XO thought nobody was looking.

“You certainly fooled us judging by the time it takes you to get your ass up,” Banhov muttered darkly in warning.

He had crewed with Richwood on this ship long enough to know full well the XO nearly always lingered in his pod so he could stare at his female shipmates while they dressed. In spite of his own shortcomings in the people skills department, Banhov's father had given him at least enough respect for the female gender to not mess about with the women he worked with. Even if he, himself, found both Beckett and Olivera incredibly attractive - the captain too for that matter - he had learned early on to never shit where he ate.

Richwood looked almost hurt. "That’s a damn slander, Banhov. I’m just slower than the rest of you, that’s all."

“Yeah, right.” The engineer didn’t press the point, and instead turned to the captain, who was absorbed in studying something out of the engineer’s view.

“Before we dock, captain, sir, maybe we’d better go over the bonus situation again,” Dankov stated out of the blue.

He managed to bring it up every time, shortly before and shortly after hyper-sleep.

“Yeah,” Granger muttered in agreement, showing faint signs of enthusiasm, his first since awakening.

 _At least hyper-sleep hasn’t made any drastic changes to the engineering staff_ , Captain Kim mused to herself, _barely conscious for more than a handful of minutes and griping about their contracts already._

“Granger and I think we deserve a full share,” Banhov continued, slipping on his boots. “Full bonus for successful completion, plus salary and interest.”

“You two will get exactly what you contracted for,” Kim stated testily, in no mood for their usual bullshit, “no more and no less. Just like everybody else.”

“Everybody else gets more than us,” Granger complained, which was quite the rant considering the source. Captain Elise Kim normally took their bellyaching in stride, it was a common enough gripe coming from them, but she had little time for the half-serious banter she usually answered their complaints with. The blinking yellow light commanded her full attention, to the exclusion of all other considerations.

“Everybody else deserves more than you two,” she growled, her tone making it abundantly clear to both of them that the matter was closed. “Complain to the company about it if you want, but until then, you signed a contract, so stop bitching about it and get below.”

“Complain to the company,” Banhov muttered as he watched Granger swing out of his coffin and start drying his legs. “Might as well try complaining directly to God.”

“Same outcome,” Granger replied before he knelt to check a weak service light on his freezer compartment, even though he was barely conscious, naked and dripping with viscous fluid.

Clint Granger was the sort of man who could walk for days on a broken leg, the whole way without complaint about his own discomfort, but couldn't ignore a malfunctioning light bulb to save his life.

Kim turned her back on the two engineers to finish toweling herself off, stopped then called back over her shoulder. “Would one of you jokers kindly get the cat?”

Kate finished shrugging her uniform jacket over her button down shirt and turned to lift Charlie's limp, yellow form out of his pod with a hurt expression on her face.

“You don't have to sound so indifferent about him,” Kate chastised as she wrapped the soaked animal in a towel and stroked him affectionately, setting off a wave of purring from Charlie. “Charlie’s not some piece of equipment, he's just as much a member of this crew as any of us.”

“More than some,” Kim replied, her affection for the cat she'd rescued as a kitten from a dirty alley back on Earth more genuine than she let on as she turned and gave Charlie a gentle scratch behind the ears, sparing a moment to glare at the backs of Banhov and Granger as they finished dressing and headed out the door toward the engine room and whispered affectionately as she and Kate babied him, “at least Charlie-boy here doesn’t waste my waking hours with complaints about salaries and bonuses. Do you?”

Kate turned and left, cradling the cat in the thick dry towel, Castle close behind, following the clack of her impractical four inch heeled boots while Charlie purred softly in her arms and groomed himself with quiet dignity. This wasn't Charlie's first time waking from hyper-sleep, in fact he had been in and out of the freezers more often than the woman holding him and her husband combined, but for now, he tolerated the indignity of being carried.

Kim set her towel aside and touched a button set into the base of her coffin. A drawer slid silently outward on nearly frictionless bearings containing her clothing and personal effects. As she dressed, Ash ambled over to stand nearby, his voice low as he finished fastening his clean shirt.

“MIRA want to talk to you?’ he whispered, nodding in the direction of the yellow light flashing steadily on the suspended console between their pods. “I saw it right off.”

Kim finished shrugging into her sports bra, slipped her arms into her shirt and started buttoning it.

“Hard yellow. Security one. Don’t tell the others. If anything’s seriously wrong, they’ll find out soon enough."

She slipped into her crisp brown jacket, but left it hanging open as she stepped into her pants.

“It can’t be too bad, whatever it is.” Ash replied, gesturing at the steadily winking light. “It is yellow, after all, not red.”

“For the moment.” Kim replied, clearly not feeling optimistic. “I’d have preferred waking up to a nice emerald green.”She shrugged, and deadpanned, “Who knows? Maybe the auto-chef's on the blink, which might be a blessing in disguise, considering what it laughingly calls food,” her quirk of a grin not fooling Ash at all.

MIRA was not human, a fact Kim knew quite well. She did not play practical jokes on her crew, nor would it have awakened them from hyper-sleep with a yellow warning light without a perfectly valid reason.

 _A malfunctioning auto-chef certainly did not qualify_. Kim mused to herself as she stooped to pull on her boots then made her own way to the door, turning in the opposite direction from the rest of the crew. After several months of doing nothing but sleeping, she felt she had little right to complain if a few hours of honest sweat was required of herself and her crew.

* * *

The central computer room was little different from the other crew spaces aboard the _Nostromo_ , a disarming kaleidoscope of lights and screens, readouts and gauges. Settling herself into a thickly padded contour seat, Kim waited as Ash took the seat next to her and powered up the direct interface to MIRA, manipulating the haptic interface with greater speed and ease than she thought a man only minutes out of hyper-sleep had any right to possess.

The science officer’s ability to handle machines was unmatched. It was a special rapport Kim often wished she shared, but he had come highly recommended when her usual science officer had a family emergency and was unavailable to make this trip. Still groggy from the after-effects of hyper-sleep, Kim reclined in the chair facing Mira's primary display. Distortion patterns chased each other across the screen then settled down to a recognizable female form on the screen.

“What's the story, MIRA?” Kim asked.

MIRA’s reply was immediate, and not something Captain Elise Kim wanted to hear.

 _“Navigational sensor array detected an electromagnetic anomaly emanating from the Zeta II Reticuli system at 04:18 hours Zulu, on 25 May, 2122, one hundred eighty point zero six days elapsed mission time,”_ MIRA's female sounding voice calmly stated. _“Detailed analysis detected an automated general distress beacon broadcasting from moon LV-426. Vessel identification: Weyland Corporation Space Exploration Vehicle USCSS Prometheus, last reported location, LV-223 at 21:00 hours Zulu on 21 April 2089. Weyland-Yutani directive four one eight point six subsection two requires mandatory investigation including but not limited to possible rescue and recovery operations as soon as practical. End of line.”_

“Well that tears it,” Kim said as she rose from her chair, suddenly at full alert before stating out loud, “Action stations, SAR.”

At her stated command, an alert began to sound.

* * *

The bridge of the _Nostromo_ was not spacious, it was less claustrophobic than the ship’s other rooms and chambers to be sure, but not by much. Five contour seats awaited their respective occupants. Lights flashed patiently on and off at multiple consoles, while numerous screens of varying shapes and sizes also awaited the arrival of humans to tell them what to display.

A large bridge would have been an expensive frivolity, since the crew spent most of its flight time motionless in the freezers. It was designed to be functional, not for relaxation or entertainment. The people who worked there knew this. A sealed door slid silently into a wall and Richwood entered, followed closely by Kate, Olivera, and Castle. They made their way to their respective stations, settled behind consoles with the ease and familiarity of old friends greeting one another after a long time apart.

A fifth seat remained empty, it would remain unoccupied until Kim returned from her tête-à-tête with MIRA, the _Nostromo’s_ artificial intelligence.

The first sounds spoken on the bridge in over half a year summed up the feelings of all present, even though they couldn’t understand them, as Charlie meowed when Kate set him on the deck. After a moment to consider his new vantage point, he started to purr, sliding sensuously around Kate's boot covered ankles as she slipped into her high-backed seat. Somehow, Kate Beckett still managed to look fully put together and professional, even in this environment. Her uniform as crisp as if she had ironed it before sliding into her freezer.

“Plug us in.” Richwood commanded.

Richwood was pretending to check out his own console, but his eyes had drifted to Kate's athletic behind, retinas caressing where his hands wished they could go before he caught the scowl from her husband as Castle took his own seat blocking Richwood's view. Castle still hadn't forgotten the First Officer's attempt to rearrange their freezer assignments on the trip out so Kate would have to exit hers directly in his line of sight.

There wasn't much room for modesty or privacy on a ship this small, but Kate jealously guarded what little she could, much to Richwood's obvious disappointment. The only person she wanted eyeing up her naked body when she stepped out of the freezers was her husband, Richard Castle, if she could help it.

Richwood returned his gaze to his duties as Kate and Olivera commenced logging in to their stations. There was a flurry of visual excitement as new lights and colors migrated across readout panels and screens. It gave the feeling that the instruments were pleased by the reappearance of their organic counterparts and were anxious to display their talents at first opportunity.

“Looks okay so far Olivera,” he said, “give us something to stare at.”

Olivera’s fingers danced an arpeggio across her haptic display. View-screens came alive all over the bridge, most suspended from the ceiling for easier inspection. The navigator examined the displays closest to her seat, a one eighty degree view in miniature to those around the bridge and frowned immediately. Much of what she saw was expected, but too much wasn't. The most important thing that should have been dominating their view was strangely absent.

"Where’s Earth?" she whispered, then swore to herself.

Examining the main display screens carefully, Richwood looked out into the black, which was speckled with stars and little else. Even if they’d emerged from hyperspace too soon, the Sol system should have been clearly visible on the screen, but the yellow medium sized star they sought was as invisible as Earth.

“You’re the navigator, Olivera. You tell me,” Richwood said, all other considerations immediately forgotten.

A star fixed squarely in the middle of the main view-screen, but it wasn’t Sol. The color was wrong, and the computer-enhanced dots orbiting it were completely wrong in shape, size and number as well.

“That’s not home,” Kate observed numbly, giving voice to the obvious.

“Maybe the trouble’s in our stars and not ourselves,” Castle theorized, his paraphrase of Shakespeare not sounding very uplifting, even to his own ears. “We could have come out of hyperspace ass-backward.”

“And that could be Centauri, at top amplification,” Kate added, picking up his reasoning as if they shared a brain, something that unnerved everyone who had ever witnessed it, including her fellow detectives at the 12th Precinct.

Olivera made quiet gagging noises at them, to which everyone else snickered nervously.

“Sol might be behind us,” Castle and Beckett stated in unison, their eyes locked on each other for a moment, before Kate stage whispered, “let’s take a look before we start panicking.”

Castle tried not to factor into his thinking that the system on the main view-screens held no more resemblance to Centauri than it did to Sol. Kate tore her eyes away from her partner with difficulty, for once wanting one of his crazy, unorthodox theories to be right as her slender fingers moved on her own console.

Sealed cameras and sensors on the battered skin of the _Nostromo_ began to track methodically in the silent vacuum of space, hunting through the darkness for hints of a warm Earth. Secondary cameras on the _Nostromo’s_ cargo contributed their own line of sight as LIDAR swept out through the black, searching the dark vacuum of space for signs of home.

The only system the cameras and sensors picked up anywhere nearby was the set neatly in the center of the primary view-screen with its incorrect necklace of planets circling an off-color star. There was no doubt now in Richwood's mind and even less in Olivera’s that MIRA had intentionally dropped the _Nostromo_ out of hyperspace with this system as their intended destination.

 _Still, it could be an error in time and not in space,_ Richwood thought to himself, _Sol could be the system located in the distance just to this star’s left or right and there was one way to find out_.

“Castle, contact traffic control,” Richwood ordered, chewing his lower lip. “If we can pick up anything from them, we’ll know we’re in the right quadrant. If Sol’s anywhere nearby, we’ll get a reply from one of the out-system relay stations.”

Castle’s fingers began a dance of their own on the ships communication panel before Richwood had even finished speaking, tugging his noise canceling headset on.

“Antarctica traffic control, this is deep-space commercial tug USCSS Nostromo,” Castle spoke clearly into his microphone, “registration number one eight zero, two four six zero nine, en route to Earth with bulk cargo of crude petroleum and refinery. Antarctica traffic control. Do you read? Over.”

Only the faint , steady hiss of distant suns replied over the speakers. Near Kate’s feet, Charlie purred in harmony with the stars, seemingly oblivious to the situation at hand.

Castle tried again, with more tension coloring his voice. “Deep-space commercial tug USCSS Nostromo calling Sol/ Antarctica traffic control. We are experiencing navigation-fix difficulties. This is a priority one hail, please respond.”

Still only the nervous stellar sizzle-pop greeted their ears. Castle looked worried as he switched to the emergency frequency. His voice so clearly agitated this time, it drew Kate's notice from her station.

“Mayday, mayday _USCSS Nostromo_ calling Sol traffic control or any vessel in transmission range. Mayday, mayday. Respond!”

The unjustified distress call went both unanswered and unchallenged. Discouraged, Castle powered down the transmitter, but left the receiver on all-channels open on the slim chance another broadcasting ship happened to be nearby.

“I knew we couldn’t be anywhere near our system,” Olivera mumbled. “I recognize this area, did my thesis about it at MIT,” She nodded towards the screen hanging above her own station. “That’s nowhere near Sol, and neither are we.”

“Keep looking,” Richwood ordered as he turned to face Olivera. “Since you know the area so well, _Dr Olivera_ , where the hell are we?”

“Give me a minute, will you?” Olivera snapped at him, “We’re way out in the boondocks, here, I'm working on it.”

Several minutes of intense searching and queries to the central library computer produced a tight grin of satisfaction on her face.

“Found it…and us!” she shouted, “we’re just short of Zeta II Reticuli, haven’t even reached the outer populated ring yet, far too deep to grab onto a navigation beacon, let alone the Sol traffic relay.”

“What the hell are we still doing all the way out here?” Richwood wondered aloud. “If there’s nothing wrong with the ship and we’re not home, why the fuck did MIRA defrost us this far out?"

It was only coincidence and not a direct response to the exec’s musing, but an attention-to-station horn began its loud and imperative beeping.

* * *

Near the stern of the _Nostromo_ was a vast chamber filled mostly with complex, powerful machinery. The ship’s heart lived there, the Yutani model T7A NLS Stellar Drive that enabled the Lockheed CM 88B Bison class transport vessel to distort space, ignore time, and thumb its metallic nose at Einstein, not to mention power the devices that kept her fragile human crew alive.

At the fore end of the massive complex was a glass cubicle on the tip of the drive core. Within, settled in contour seats were the two men responsible for the health and well-being of the ship’s drive, the only situation either men would ever be content with. They took care of the engines and the engines took care of them.

Most of the time the ship's fully automated drive core was content to look after itself, which gave the two of them plenty of time to spend on more pastoral pursuits, which consisted of drinking beer and swapping dirty stories. Banhov was rambling for the hundredth time, a tale about an unfortunate engineering apprentice's misadventures in a zero-gee brothel. A story that never failed to elicit a knowing snigger or two from the much quieter Granger and a belly laugh from Banhov himself at the memory of it.

“… and so the madam busts in on me, all worried and mad at the same time,” the engineer roared, “insists we come rescue the poor bastard. Guess he didn’t know what he was getting into.”

As usual, he roared in laughter, though he was sure the female members of the crew would not be nearly as amused by the story, especially not the Captain.

“That place is not for amateurs to fool around, nyet! Guess the dumb kid got embarrassed or cajoled into trying it by crew-mates. From what the prostitutka involved told me later as she was cleaning herself up, they started off okay, but started to spin, and he panicked when he couldn’t arrest their tumble. Prostitutka tried, but it takes two to stop as well as start in free-fall. With the mirrors messing up sense of position, plus the tumbling, he couldn’t stop throwing up.” 

Banhov downed another mouthful of beer.

“Never saw such mess. Bet they are still cleaning mirrors.”

“Yeah,” Granger smiled appreciatively. 

Banhov sat still, letting the last vestiges of the memory fade from his mind which left a pleasantly lascivious residue behind as he absently flipped a switch over his console. A gratifyingly green light appeared above it, holding steady.

“How’s your light?” he asked his partner.

“Green,” replied Granger, after repeating the switch-and-check procedure with his own instrumentation.

“Mine too,” Banhov added before he returned his gaze to study the bubbles in his bottle of beer. Several hours out of hyper-sleep and bored already, he mused to himself. The engine room ran itself with quiet efficiency and wasted little time making them both feel extraneous. There was no one for Banhov to argue with except Granger, but even he couldn’t work up anything close to an invigorating debate with a man who spoke mostly in monosyllables and tended to agree with him, regardless of the topic in question.

“I still think the Captain is deliberately ignoring our complaints,” Banhov ventured. “Maybe she can’t direct that we receive full bonuses, but she's the captain. If she wanted, she could put in a request, or at least a decent word for us, da?” 

Banhov would have continued his rambling, but the same alert that had sounded on the bridge abruptly sounded in their compartment as well.

“Pakhshalsta! What is it now?” Banhov muttered, “can't a man get comfortable before something goes wrong?” “Right,” Granger muttered, leaning forward to get out of his chair.

“Banhov, Granger, report to the mess.” Kate Beckett's voice said over the speaker.

“Can’t be lunch, isn’t supper,” Banhov muttered, confused. “Either we are standing down to offload cargo, or…” he glanced questioningly at his companion.

“Find out soon enough,” replied Granger. As they made their way towards the mess, Banhov surveyed the less than antiseptically clean walls of _‘C’_ corridor with distaste.

“I’d like to know why they never come down here. This is where the real work is,” he muttered to himself.

Granger didn't offer a reply, he wasn't going to bother reminding his partner that there was barely enough room for the two of them in the claustrophobic confines of the engine control room.

“Same reason we have half a share to their one,” Banhov muttered angrily, answering his own query “Our time is their time. That’s the way they see it. Well, I’ll tell you something. It stinks!”

Banhov’s tone left no doubt he was referring to something other than the odor of engine coolant the corridor walls were impregnated with as they began the short walk to the ship's galley.

They would find out what was going on soon enough.


	3. Descent

**Chapter Three**  
**Descent**

* * *

 _Castle: Where’s your sense of adventure? Of exploration? Of destiny?_  
_Ryan: If I want to fly thousands of miles to see a lifeless orb I could just visit Jenny’s grandmother._  
 _Same hostile environment, same freezing temperatures, same noxious atmosphere._  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Though far from comfortable, the mess was just large enough to hold the entire crew. Since they rarely ate all at once, due to the nature of their duty schedules when they weren't in hyper-sleep (MIRA was careful to encourage individuality in their eating habits), it hadn’t been designed for all of them to sit comfortably together. As a result, they shuffled from foot to foot, bumping and jostling each other and trying not to get on each other’s nerves.

Banhov and Granger weren’t happy with the current situation and made no attempt to hide their displeasure. Their only comfort was the knowledge that nothing was wrong in engineering, so whatever they’d been revived to deal with was somebody else's problem. Castle had already filled them in on the disconcerting absence of their intended destination, which nobody on the crew was happy about.

Banhov brooded on the certainty that eventually they would all have to re-enter hyper-sleep, which was a messy and uncomfortable process at best, and cursed under his breath. He resented anything that kept him separated from his end-of-voyage paycheck.

Neither Castle or Beckett were happy about the situation, because it meant that she would have to put up with even more indirect harassment and creepy stares from Richwood. An extended stay in hyper-sleep had been the one consolation about having to crew with him for the rest of the cruise. He was supposed to have been out of their lives after they woke up. A return to hyper-sleep meant enduring another round of being leered at by the man while she undressed to get into her pod.

“We know we haven’t arrived at Sol, Captain.” Richwood was all business for once as he spoke for the others, all of whom were eyeing Kim expectantly. “We’re nowhere near home but MIRA has seen fit to hustle us all out of hyper-sleep.”

“And it's time I told you why,” Kim agreed readily. “As you all know,” she began, “MIRA is programmed to bring us out of hyper-drive and sleep if certain specified conditions arise.” She paused for effect. “They have.”

“It would have to be something pretty important,” Kate said as she turned from watching Charlie swipe a paw a blinking indicator light. “Bringing a full crew out of hyper-sleep this far between inhabited systems isn’t done lightly. There’s always an element of risk involved.”

“Tell me about it,” Banhov muttered so softly only Granger could hear.

“You’ll all be happy enough to learn,” Kim continued, "the emergency we’ve been awakened to deal with does not involve the _Nostromo_. MIRA says we’re running within acceptable parameters.” 

A couple of heartfelt ‘amens’ sounded in the cramped mess.

“Said emergency lies elsewhere – specifically, in the unlisted system we’ve left hyperspace outside of, MIRA has us closing on the planet in question as we speak.” She glanced at Ash, who rewarded her with a confirming nod. “MIRA picked up a transmission from within the system. It’s garbled and took MIRA some time to puzzle out, but it’s definitely a distress signal."

“Whoa, that doesn’t make sense,” Olivera retorted, looking puzzled herself. “Of all transmissions, emergency calls are the least complex. How could MIRA possibly have trouble interpreting one?"

“According to MIRA this is anything but “standard” transmission. The transponder carrier signal from the distress signal she originally parsed, was identified as coming from this ship,” Ash said, activating a haptic display bringing up the schematic of a thirty year old science vessel, “the USCSS Prometheus, that much is certain, but there's another signal buried in her distress signal's carrier wave. An acoustic beacon signal, which repeats at intervals of twelve seconds. She believes the additional signal is not of human origin.”

That provoked some startled muttering. When it died down, he continued.

“MIRA’s not positive. I’ve never seen a computer show confusion before. Ignorance yes, but not confusion. This may be a first. She’s certain that both it and the distress signal from the Prometheus were genuine enough to pull us out of hyper-sleep, however.”

“So what?” Granger asked. Richwood replied with irritation.

“You know your manual. We’re obliged under Weyland-Yutani in-transit directives to render whatever aid and assistance we can in such situations. Whether the call is human or otherwise.”

Banhov kicked at the deck in frustration. “I hate to be one to point out obvious here, but we’re commercial tug with big, hard-to-handle cargo. Not a damn Colonial Marine rescue ship. Let's be realistic here, Prometheus disappeared over thirty years ago, any 'assistance' we could possibly render is twenty years too late, even if they had enough power to run freezers this long. As for this other anomaly, we aren't science vessel, this kind of duty is not in contract.”

“You’d better read the fine print of that contract you're always so concerned about renegotiating,” Ash recited as calmly as the main computer he was so proud of. “Even disregarding the distress call from the Prometheus, company guidelines are quite clear: Any systematic transmission indicating possible intelligent non-terrestrial origin, regardless of source must be investigated. The penalty for failure to do so being the full forfeiture of all pay and bonuses due upon mission completion.”

Banhov gave the deck another kick, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Neither he nor Granger considered themselves heroes, that's what the Colonial Marines were paid for. Anything that could force a ship down on a strange world might treat them in an equally inconsiderate manner (not that they had any evidence that this unknown caller had been forced down, but being a realist in a harsh universe, he was inclined to be pessimistic).  He and Granger simply saw the detour in terms of their delayed paychecks.

“We have no choice, we’re going in. That’s all there is to it.” Kim eyed them each in turn, just about fed up with both of them. She no more enjoyed this kind of detour than they did, every bit as anxious to get home and offload their cargo as they were, but there were times when their “letting off steam” crossed over into insubordination. This was one of those times.

“Right,” Granger replied, with a little too much disrespect in his tone for her liking.

“Right, what?” Kim challenged, her eyes narrowed and her back straightened to a military bearing that she hadn't seen fit to employ since she stopped flying for the Colonial Marines. Combined with her tone and the expression on her face, it finally occurred to Granger that it was time to back down.

The engineering tech was a lot of things, but he was nobody's fool.

Kim continued to glare at him dangerously in a way that seemed to drop the room's temperature by ten degrees. Even Kate was unnerved by it and she was no stranger to leveling such death-glares.

“Right… we’re going in, sir,” Granger added with a smile.

The captain rounded on Banhov, almost daring him to say something stupid, but he knew better than to press his luck when the generally easygoing Captain Kim was so pissed off she went 'military' on them.

“Can we land on it?” Kim asked Ash, finally breaking the silence created after throwing her weight around.

“Somebody did,” Castle replied, stating the obvious in an attempt to lighten the mood, eliciting a cuff to the back of his head from his wife.

“Mr. Castle,” Kim said, feeling like an elementary school teacher all of a sudden. “When I say land, I'm implying a controlled sequence of events that when successfully carried out, results in the gentle and safe touchdown of the _Nostromo_ on a hard surface. We’re faced with a distress call, possibly two. Which implies circumstances that are significantly less than ideal. We're required by company directives to go find out what’s going on, but we're gonna walk softly, with boots in hand.”

* * *

Back on the bridge, Kim, Beckett Richwood, and Ash stood at opposite points of its compass around an illuminated cartographic table, while Olivera and Castle sat at their stations.

“There it is.” Kim fingered a glowing point on the table and looked around at the others. “Something I want everyone to hear.” They resumed their seats as she nodded to Castle. His fingers poised over the communications console. “Okay, Mr. Castle,” she said, “let’s hear it. Mind the volume, if you please.”

Castle did as instructed. Moments later, static and hissing sounds filled the bridge. Castle made modifications on his haptic display, filtering out the white noise cause by stellar activity. Soon, the automated distress transponder from the _Prometheus_ and most of the static dropped sharply away, replaced by a sound that sent shivers up Richwood's back and unholy crawling things down Kate’s spine.

It lasted for twelve seconds, then cycled again. Castle was so creeped out that he hadn't noticed that Kate had stepped next to him, or that her left hand had crossed the space between them until it was clasped firmly in his. This was not exactly the way either of them had wanted to find out that alien life existed.

“Holy shit.” Richwood’s expression was drawn.

Castle switched off the speakers, cutting off the alien signal and all was quiet on the bridge again.

“What the hell was that?” Kate whispered, feeling like somebody had walked across her grave.

“It doesn’t sound like any distress signal I ever heard,” Castle added, his own emotions churned up, not only by the signal but how it was effecting his wife.

“That’s what MIRA calls it, though she may be extrapolating some of that from the Prometheus distress call,” Kim added, “calling it alien seems to have definitely been an understatement.”

“Maybe it’s a voice,” Castle and Beckett said in unison, both thinking on it during a moment of silent visual communication between them. Both seemed to find that implication equally unpleasant and wanted to pretend it never occurred to either of them.

“We’ll know soon,” Kim stated coolly. “Have you and Olivera honed in on it?”

Castle nodded as he transferred information from his station to Olivera's, leaving the rest up to the ship's navigator.

“I’ve found the section of planet,” Olivera replied, turning her concentration to her duties as her fingers danced efficiently over the haptic display at her console, relieved to be able to deal with mathematics instead of the disquieting thoughts raised by the alien transmission. “We’re close enough,” Olivera stated distractedly as she worked.

“MIRA wouldn’t have pulled us out of hyper-sleep unless we were,” Kate murmured, but the navigator ignored her comment.

Olivera wasn't catty by nature, but once upon a time Katie Beckett had beaten her out for a magazine spread, only to turn it down. Though she had only been a model to pay for college herself, she still hated playing second fiddle to anybody, and to have Beckett here, and once again be outranked by the woman after years of hard work, rankled her a bit, even though Kate seemed to have the utmost respect for her.

“It’s coming from ascension six minutes, twenty seconds; declination minus thirty-nine degrees, two seconds," Olivera stated with cool efficiency.

“Show me the whole thing on-screen,” ordered Captain Kim.

The navigator hit a succession of buttons. One of the bridge view-screens flickered, then gifted them with a bright dot.

“Can you zoom in a little closer?” Kim asked.

“LIDAR has LV-426 painted, just have to wait for MIRA to parse the data for extrapolation.” Olivera replied.

Shortly thereafter, the screen zoomed in tighter on the point of light, revealing an unspectacular, slightly oblate shape sitting in emptiness.

“Smart ass,” Kim voiced without malice. “You sure that’s it? It’s a crowded system.”

“That’s it, all right. Just a planetoid, really,” Olivera stated, “approximately twelve hundred kilometers, no more.”

“Rotation?” Kim asked.

“About two hours, working off the initial figures," Olivera stated, "I'll have more data in about ten minutes.”

“That’s good enough for now,” Kim replied, “what’s the gravity?”

Olivera once again made adjustments to her haptic display as she studied different readouts. “Point eight six. Must have a pretty dense core.”

“Don’t tell Banhov and Granger,” Kate sassed. “They’ll get to thinking it’s solid heavy metal and wander off somewhere prospecting before we can check out our unknown broadcaster.”

The small bridge echoed in nervous laughter for a moment at her comment as she fed the birds with her husband. They had all needed the moment of levity.

Ash’s observation was more prosaic. “We can walk on it at least.”

They settled down to working out the orbital plot after that, back to business as the _Nostromo_ edged closer to the tiny world, trailing its vast cargo of tanks and refinery equipment.

“Approaching orbital apogee. Mark. Twenty seconds. Nineteen, eighteen…” Olivera continued to count down while the others worked steadily around her.

“Roll ninety-two degrees starboard yaw,” announced Richwood, thoroughly businesslike.

The signal had shaken him too, which he hid behind his work. The tug and refinery rotated, performing a massive pirouette in the vastness of space. Light appeared at the stern of the tug as her secondary engines fired briefly.

“Equatorial orbit established,” declared Ash. Below them, the miniature world rotated unconcernedly.

“Give me an EC pressure reading,” Captain Kim ordered.

Ash examined his console, then spoke without turning. “Three point four five en slash em squared… about five psi, sir.”

“Keep an eye on it, report if it changes,” Kim ordered again.

“Worried about redundancy management disabling CMGS control when we’re busy elsewhere?” Ash asked.

“Yeah,” Captain Kim replied.

Ash studied his own console. “CMG control is inhibited via DAS/ DCS. We’ll augment with TACS and monitor through ATMDC and computer interface. Feel better now?”

“A lot, Ash,” Kim replied, “thank you,”

Ash was a funny sort, kind of coldly friendly, but supremely competent. Nothing rattled him. Kim felt confident with the science officer backing her up.

“Prepare to disengage from platform.” Kim flipped a switch on her chair and addressed a small pickup. “Engineering, stand ready to disengage on my mark.”

“Ell alignment on port and starboard couplings show green,” reported Banhov, all hint of his usual sarcasm absent.

“Green on spinal umbilicus severance controls,” added Granger.

“Crossing the terminator in three... two... one... mark,” Olivera reported, “entering night-side.”

Below the ship and her cargo, a dark line split the planetoid, leaving one side brightly lit, on the other dark as the inside of a grave.

“It’s coming up. It’s coming up. Stand by,” Olivera made adjustments to her haptic display in sequence, “Stand by... fifteen seconds… ten… five… four... three... two... one... lock.”

“Disengage from platform,” Kim ordered.

Tiny puffs of gas burst between the Nostromo and the ponderous coasting bulk of the refinery platform. The two artificial structures, one tiny and inhabited, the other enormous and deserted, drifted slowly apart. Kim watched the separation intently on the number two screen.

“Moorings clear, and retracting,” Kate announced after a short pause, “precision corrected. Separation complete, no damage.”

Kate leaned back in her seat, relaxing for a few seconds. “We are free and clear to navigate.”

“Navigation ready,” added Olivera.

“Helm answering, port and starboard thrust quads at station keeping,” Kate reported.

“Confirm we've left her in a stable orbit,” Captain Kim ordered as she glanced over at her navigator. “I don't want the whole two billion tons dropping out of orbit and burning up while we're poking around downstairs. Atmosphere's not thick enough to give us a safe umbrella.”

“Refinery orbit stable,” Olivera reported after she checked a readout, “she'll stay up here for a year or so easy, sir.”

“All right,” Captain Kim stated, breathing a sigh of relief. “The money's safe as well as our skulls. Let's take it down. Prepare for atmospheric flight.”

Five humans worked busily, each secure in his or her assigned task. Charlie the cat sat on a port console and studied the approaching clouds.

“Commencing de-orbit burn,” Kate stated, Olivera's attention fixed on her navigational displays.

“Fifty thousand meters and dropping,” Olivera reported. “Forty-nine thousand, now entering atmosphere.”

Kim watched her own instrumentation, tried to evaluate and memorize the dozens of steadily shifting figures. Deep space travel was a question of paying proper homage to one's instruments and letting MIRA do the hard work. Atmospheric flight was another story entirely. For a change, it was pilot's work instead of a machine's.

Brown and gray clouds met the underside of the ship. As he kept an ear tuned to the distress frequency, (carefully tuning out the alien signal) Castle watched his wife do her job with all of the competence and drive she had once employed to hunt down murderers. He was in awe of how she had bounced back so cleanly from all the disappointments and setbacks in her professional life, feeling insanely proud of his wife. He would follow her anywhere, even though one of his secret desires was that she would one day decide to settle down with him somewhere for a much earned rest from the world she still carried upon her slender shoulders. Until then, he would be at her side, a package deal to help her shoulder the burden.

“Look sharp, Beckett,” Kim stated. “Looks nasty down there.”

Almost immediately the Nostromo began to rattle in the planetoid's upper atmosphere.

 _How like Kim,_ Castle mused to himself, _somewhere below another ship was bleating a regular, inhuman, frightening distress call. The world itself was unlisted, which meant they'd begin from scratch where such matters as atmospheric peculiarities, terrain and such were concerned. Yet to Kim, it was no more or less than 'nasty'_.

Castle often wondered what a woman as competent as Elise Kim was doing toiling away on an unimportant tub like the Nostromo, shuttling cargo around the cosmos. A woman with her military record obviously had options, appealing options, more exciting options, and yet she was here... why?  The answer - if he could have read the captain's mind as easily as he could Kate's - would have surprised him. She liked it.

“Course correction three degrees,” Olivera stated, “mark.”

“Course corrected,” Kate replied, “continuing descent.”

“Homing in on signal beacon,” Castle stated, “signal locked, transferring data to navigation.”

“Check,” Kim stated, “how's our plot going to square with secondary propulsion in this chop?”

“We're doing okay so far, Captain,” Olivera replied, “can't say for sure until we get under these clouds, if we get under them, that is.”

“Understood,” Kim acknowledged as she checked a readout, frowned and touched a button on her chair. The readout changed to a less troubling one. “Let me know if the situation changes.”

“Acknowledged,” Olivera replied.

The Nostromo struck some more chop, invisible to the naked eye, but not to her instruments. She bounced once, twice then settled into the thickening cloud cover. The ease of entry was a tribute to Olivera's skill as a navigator and Kate's as a pilot.  Olivera's minor personal issues aside, she had to admit that Kate Beckett was very good at her job.

That ease of transition from space to suborbital did not last long, however. Within the thick cloud cover, heavy currents loomed, swirled and quickly buffeted the descending ship.

“Turbulence,” Kate stated as she fought with the controls.

“Engage navigation and landing lights,” Kim said coolly, a well of calm in the chaos, “maybe we can spot something visually.”

“No substitute for the instruments,” Ash prompted, “not in this.”

“Nothing wrong with maximum input either,” Kim stated, “navigational lights, now.”

Powerful lights snapped on underneath the Nostromo, piercing the cloud cover only weakly, most of the light reflected back, like a car's headlights in a whiteout. Though they did not provide the navigational aid the captain desired, they did illuminate the view-screens, providing additional light to the bridge and alleviating some of the tension among them.  Olivera and Beckett felt less like they were flying through ink.

* * *

In engineering, things were not faring much better. Klaxons wailed as the entire engine room seemed to shift first one way, then the other, the deck plates rattling sharply.

Banhov swore under his breath in Russian, “What the fuck was that?”

Granger checked his panel, the readout made him distinctly unhappy.

“Got a pressure drop in intake number three,” he shouted over the din of the alarm klaxon's persistent wail. "Confirmation, three's gone, damned dust fouling the intake!”

“Shut it down!” Banhov shouted.

“What do you think I'm doing?” Granger replied. “Bypassing number three intake, attempting to vent the dust back out as it comes in.”

“Damage is done.” Banhov didn't like to imagine what the presence of wind-blown abrasive dust might be doing to the to the intake lining.

 _What the hell are we flying through?_ He thought to himself. _Captain doesn't get us down soon, provided we don't crash we'll get an electrical fire in the sub-light drive core._

* * *

Blissfully unaware of the chaos and and cursing down in engineering, other than an engine overheat warning light on Richwood's console, the bridge crew were still struggling to set the ship down in one piece close enough to the source of the distress signal to investigate.

“Approaching point of origin,” Olivera stated, her eyes glued to her readouts, “closing, twenty-five meters... twenty... ten... five...”

“Reducing speed,” Kate stated.

“Correct course three degrees, starboard,” Olivera stated. Kate made the adjustment.

“We're locked, five kilometers to center of search grid, holding steady,” Olivera stated.

“Approach vector locked, turning on final,” Kate said.

“Three kilometers... two...” Olivera stated, her voice tinged with excitement, whether from the danger they were in, or the closing distance to the source of the signal, no one on the bridge could tell. “That's it,” Olivera said, “we're circling right on top of it.”

“Nice work Olivera, Beckett, nicely done,” the captain said, “find us a suitable landing site.”

“Working sir,” the navigator replied while Kate struggled to hold station over the point of origin for the signal. She looked over her instruments, her expressing of disgust growing as unacceptable readings came back.

“Sonar's giving me noise, same with infra red,” Olivera mumbled, “switching to ultraviolet.” A moment ticked by followed by another as the navigator checked her instruments until she founds something promising. “That's got it,” Olivera finally said, finally relaxing, “totally flat near as I can tell, we can set down anywhere you like, instruments say it's flat.

“Richwood, give me a determination, Beckett get us in low enough to clear some of this interference. Make sure this landing zone is secure.”

Richwood turned back to his instruments, hands dancing along the haptic interface, “Sensor scan commenced, having trouble penetrating this interference.”

Carefully, Beckett eased the Nostromo toward the surface.

“Still noisy, but starting to clear...”

Beckett slipped the ship lower as Olivera's eyes were locked on her own display, calling out altitude and course adjustments, the two women intent on their jobs. The ship was more than high enough to maintain clearance, but with the engines straining, or a downdraft should materialize from the cloud cover, they couldn't afford to slow further or risk loss of attitude control.

“Clearing...clearing... that's got it!” Richwood exclaimed as he studied his display. “Core was molten once, but not anymore. Not for a long time, according to the sensors. Composition, basalt, some rhyolite, with centuries old lava overlays, no tectonic activity or seismic faults in the immediate area. Completely solid, looks like as good a place as any to set down."

“You certain about the surface composition?” Kim asked.

“It's too old to be anything else,” Richwood shot back, sounding almost peeved, “I know my job well enough to check age data along with composition, you think I'd risk setting us down inside an active volcano?”

Sometimes Kim forgot that - aside from his personal faults, which were many - he had once been a competent officer who had served with her for years. He'd been able to hide most of his less than sterling qualities behind that competence, well enough that she hadn't seen what was brewing beneath, hadn't wanted to see. It was almost a shame, really that he lacked self discipline in his personal habits, as he displayed in his duties on the bridge.

“Understood.”

“Beckett, take us in,” Kim stated, all business again, “spiral us in as close as you can. Castle, Olivera, keep a close eye on that signal. I don't want us dropping right on top of whatever is broadcasting that damned beacon.”

Adjustments were made, commands were given and executed and the Nostromo continued to follow a steadily spiraling course down toward the surface of LV-426, fighting cross-winds and thermals the whole way.

“Fifteen kilometers and descending,” Olivera called out, “”twelve... ten...eight...

 _“Warning: sub-light drive core intake vent three off-line,"_ MIRA's voice calmly intoned, _“sub-light drive core temperature rising above recommended design parameters.”_

“Reducing descent velocity,” Kate stated.

 _“Warning: engine core temperatures approaching critical,"_ Mira interrupted again. _“Secondary drive core overload imminent.”_

“Five... three... one kilometer.” Olivera added.

“Locked,” Richwood stated, working his own console with quiet efficiency. “Mira now has guidance control.” A crisp hum filled the bridge as MIRA took over the descent.

“Descending on landers,” Richwood added.

“Kill the engines before they burn out,” Kim ordered.

Kate performed the final landing system checklist. “Powering down sub-light engines, lifter quads engaged, functioning normally.”

“Nine hundred meters and dropping,” reported Olivera, “eight hundred. Seven hundred. Six.” At five meters, the tug hesitated, hovering on her landers above the storm wracked night shrouded surface.

“Struts down,” Kim ordered. Richwood was already moving to comply before Kim finished giving the order. A faint whine filled the bridge as the landing struts descended and locked, Richwood's console confirming their full lock in the down position.

 _“Warning: electrical fire detected in sub-light engine core,"_ MIRA stated calmly. _"Fire suppression protocols engaged.”_

Something snapped after Mira spoke her warning, a minor circuit overloaded in the ship's engine room and a shock echoed throughout the hull, vibrating in the deck-plates before the entire ship went dark and the Nostromo dropped the final five meters to the surface. Her landing struts took the strain, shock absorbers over designed for the load they carried, she was built for such rough treatment, but only barely.

“What the hell!” Kim shouted as alarms sounded and bridge illumination shifted to emergency lighting.

“Secondary power should have kicked in by now, ” Olivera stated.

“Wonder what's keeping it?” Richwood commented dryly. Kim cut the alarms, then thumbed the intercom, thankful it had it's own internal power supply.

“Engineering, bridge,” she stated, falling back on military precision, “damage report.”

“Lousy,” Banhov swore steadily into the intercom in Russian before continuing, “проклятого dust from the atmosphere fouled the intakes which overheated the engines. Weren't able to get it locked down and vented in time. Got electrical fire down here.”

“It's big,” added Granger, his voice sounding tinny.

Throat mic, Kim's mind supplied, they're in fire suppression gear.

There was a long pause in the conversation, during which the woosh of halon based fire extinguishers could be clearly heard.

“We overheated badly, burned out an entire cell, I think. I'll have more complete damage report when I get the electrical fire locked down. Mira managed to drop the emergency bulkheads and prime the halon system before she was knocked off-line, thankfully so it shouldn't spread. I'll get back to you when I have more. Engineering out.”

After Banhov closed the link, Kim turned to the rest of the crew.

“Damage control stations, people,” Kim ordered, sharply, “as complete an assessment as you can give me. I need to know if the damage is confined to engineering. Has the hull been breached, if so, where and how badly?”

Ash did a thorough check of the ship's systems from his console.

“Primary and secondary power off-line, running on batteries.” he stated coolly, “passive sensors on all decks show the hull is intact, the electrical fire in engineering seems to be confined to “C” deck. We have full pressure in all compartments, no sign of contaminants from outside atmosphere.”

“Best news I've heard in about sixty seconds,” Kim stated, “Richwood, we have power for the exterior screens?”

“Negative, Captain,” Richwood replied, “active internal and external sensors are out until either primary or secondary power is restored, batteries aren't enough to power imaging in this mess. Passive external sensors are only reading the storm outside. Passive internal sensors functioning, but are out on “C” deck, probably due to the electrical fire.”

“Wish we'd come down in daylight,” Olivera mumbled, her gaze drawn to one of the few functioning external cameras on the forward landing gear, “at least we'd be able to see without instruments.”

“What's the matter, Olivera?” Richwood couldn't help but tease her, “afraid of the dark?”

Olivera didn't smile back, and Kate looked like she was going to explode.

“I'm not afraid of the dark I know,” the navigator shot back, “it's the dark I don't that scares the shit out of me! Especially when it's filled with noises like that distress call.”

That Olivera had basically laid bare everybody's deepest fears did nothing to improve the atmosphere on the bridge as an uneasy silence descended. Even Castle couldn't seem to find anything to say to lighten the atmosphere, though Kate shot him a look that practically begged _'tell me something reassuring,'_ which laid bare to her husband her own fear of that very same darkness.

Cramped under the best of conditions, the bridge grew nearly suffocating in the near darkness, made worse by the silence among them. It was actually a relief when the intercom pinged, bringing everyone back to the business at hand.

“Banhov,” Captain Kim stated, “status.”

“Took bit of doing, but we got fire out,” Banhov sighed, “it got into some of that old lubrication lining the corridor walls on “C” deck. It was thinner than I thought, though, and burned itself out before it ate up too much oxygen once I got to the manual override for the halon system. Scrubbers seem to be dealing with the worst of the carbon emissions.”

“Got a damage report for me?” Kim asked. “Skip the minor systems, I need to know how ship efficiency, function and performance are effected.”

“Let's see,” Banhov replied, “four panel is completely shot, secondary load-sharing unit is out and at least three cells on number twelve module are gone. We're working on getting main and secondary power back now. Twelve module going out really made a mess of things.”

“How about repairs?” she asked. “Can you give me an estimate?”

“Can't fix it all out here no matter what,” Banhov replied. “Understood,” Kim acknowledged, “what can you give me?”

“We need to re-route a couple of these ducts and reline the damaged intakes. We can work around the worst of the damage, though. We can't fix the ducts properly without a full dry-dock facility, so we'll have to jury rig it and hope it holds when we lift out of here.”

“What about twelve unit?” Richwood asked.

“I'm giving to you straight, we lost a main cell.”

“How? The dust?” Ash asked.

“Partly.” Banhov paused, exchanged a few hushed words with Granger for a moment, then was back on the pickup, “dust and fragments compounded in intakes, caked up and caused heating that sparked the fire. You know how sensitive those drivers are, Captain. Burned through shielding and blew out whole system.”

“Anything you can do with it?” Kim asked, the system had to be repaired, they couldn't replace it. Without it they would be taking up permanent residence on this rock.

“I think so, so does Granger,” Banhov responded. “We'll have to clean it out and re-vacuum, then see how it holds. If it stays tight after it's been scoured and shielding repaired, we should be fine. If not, we can try metal-forming patch-seal. As long as we don't have crack running length of duct, we should be good.”

“Okay guys, time to earn your pay,” Captain Kim said, “get us off this rock and I will personally endorse your request to get that full share, if not for this trip then the next one.”

“Understood, Captain,” Banhov said, sounding more motivated than before. “Engineering out.” Kim killed the intercom.

“How long before we're operational?” The captain asked, looking at Ash.

“Provided that Banhov is right about the damage and their repairs hold.” Ash checked his console, making calculations in his head. “If they can reroute those ducts and repair module twelve to the point where it can carry its share of the power load again, between fifteen and twenty hours before we can lift out of here.”

“Agreed,” Richwood stated, “I got eighteen.”

Captain Kim didn't smile, but she was starting to feel more hopeful, which she hoped was contagious.

“What about auxiliaries?” she stated. “They'd better be ready when we get main power back.”

“Working on it,” Olivera said, adjusting her instruments to stand-by mode. Kate did the same with her console.

“We'll be ready when they're finished in Engineering,” Kate stated. Everyone else followed suit and confirmed their systems were powered down to conserve battery power. Ten minutes later, the intercom beeped again, and Captain Kim opened the channel.

“Bridge, engineering,” Banhov sounded exhausted, but pleased with himself, “should have main power back now. I don't know how long it will hold, some of welds we had to make were rather sloppy, but we'll lock it down later once we get auxiliary power back on the line.”

Moments later, main illumination came back on, along with the bridge consoles to the sound of whirring fans and winking of lights. View-screens snapped on moments later.

 _“Initializing.”_ MIRA stated after her dome on the ceiling lit up. _“ **M** ainframe artificial **I** ntelligence **R** emote **A** utonomous system fully operational. Beginning system analysis.”_

Her dome lights flickered for a few seconds before she began her litany

_“Main Power: nominal. Auxiliary power: offline. Active navigational sensor array: online. Structural integrity: one hundred percent. Life support: Online. Communications array: online. Active and passive internal sensors partially online, main engineering and C deck sensors not responding. Number twelve power distribution node: offline. Sub-light engines: offline. Stellar drive: nominal...”_

MIRA continued her litany nearly unabated until she finished, though most everyone tuned it out after noting the systems that were damaged during the landing cycle.

“We have main power, and MIRA is booting, Engineering,” Captain Kim stated, “nice work you two.”

“All part of service, Captain,” Banhov replied.

“Right,” Granger added cheekily, which Kim allowed under the circumstances.

“Don't get too excited,” Banhov added, “the new links should hold, but I'm not making guarantees, we just cobbled things together as best we could, systems bypassed all over the place down here.”

“Understood, keep up the good work,” Kim replied. “Anything new up your way?”

“Not a damn thing,” Olivera added as she watched the view-screens. The ships flood lights cast a faint glow over the patch featureless ground under the forward landing gear strut, the occasional wind blown dust fragment occasionally blowing past. “Just wind, dirt and bare rock.”

“We can't see very far,” Castle quipped, trying to sound chipper, as much for Kate's sake as for his own, “for all we know we could be squatting five meters from the local oasis!”

Kate rolled her eyes, but the long-suffering expression was belied by the corners of her mouth quirking up.

“Dream on,” Banhov shouted over the intercom, Granger could be heard stifling a chuckle at Castle's expense, “be in touch if we have trouble, let us know the same.”

“We'll keep the coffee on for you,” Captain Kim stated, “bridge out.”

With the repairs under way, which would take the better part of a day, they were back to the matter of the signal that had brought them here.

“Secure stations,” the captain ordered, “MIRA can keep us apprised of any changes.”

She thought about it for a moment and said, “Richwood, Castle, Olivera, be ready to suit up in two hours, about time we paid our night caller a visit. Beckett, you'll have the bridge while we're gone. Dismissed.”

It was going to be a very long day.


	4. Preparing For The Unknown

**Chapter Four**  
**Preparing for the Unknown**

* * *

 _Castle: Planets, dank access ways. Is it just me or does this remind you of Alien?_  
Season 7 Episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

It would probably have been better for the crew's peace of mind had their emergency status continued longer. With Main and secondary power restored, and all other systems relatively operational, there was nothing more for most of them to do other than stare at each other over cups of coffee in the galley.

There was little space available for the crew to actually relax, exercise, or even walk the corridors to blow off steam. The crew was never meant to be awake or on duty for this long a period when the _Nostromo_ wasn't in port. Outside of their duties there really wasn't much for them to occupy themselves with. For once the two men in engineering, who had the most experience handling downtime, had more to occupy their time than the rest of the crew.

Angela Olivera, for one, did not relish the idea of being Tom Richwood's sole focus of attention while Kate Beckett's presence was elsewhere, even temporarily. To this end, she had found her way back to her station on the bridge where it was mostly quiet other than the groan and creak of the ship's hull when the wind hit it while the Captain and the XO engaged in a game of chess.

Castle and Beckett had other ideas about how to spend their time and the proper use for all of the nervous energy pent up between them, uses they found themselves carrying out with passionate abandon in the communications blister at the very top of the ship. Kisses quickly gave way to wandering hands, then to shedding of clothing, followed soon thereafter by very energetic couplings first against the nearest internal bulkhead, then twice more in the fully reclined console seat, eventually leading to them curled up with one another in the chair under his jacket watching the wind blow particles around the ship as they basked in their newly rediscovered bliss.

Ash was the only one content with his current duties in the ship's science blister on the bottom of the ship, contemplating the Alien signal. He was the only member of the crew who was not repulsed by it, though even he was unsure why. He found the signal hauntingly beautiful, almost hypnotic in its strangely alluring call - something he had been careful not to reveal to the rest of his shipmates.

His only other concern at the moment was for the emotional well-being of the crew. It was among his position's primary responsibilities. Part medic, part scientist, part shrink. He was well aware that there were no recreational facilities as such on the _Nostromo_ for the crew to turn their minds to. As the ship was a working vessel, not a science or military ship, none were generally needed. When they weren't at their stations performing their duties either in home port, or on Thedus station, the crew was supposed to be safely in the womb of their hyper-sleep chambers.

As far as this portion of his professional duties were concerned, he was the most concerned about Olivera and Richwood.

Angela Olivera had come up through the civilian space corps, and was the least accustomed to wakeful inactivity. There was simply very little for a navigator to do as long as the ship was on this rock. The captain was wise to add her to the landing party, regardless of her intense desire not to go. The trip out and back would give her a task to focus on that should keep her occupied until the repairs were complete and they would be lifting back into space where her skills would be needed again.

Tom Richwood's declining psychological health was also a matter of great concern to him. As First Officer of the ship, he had a position that required the trust of the crew, and his behavior the last few tours, from the records he had reviewed, had been gradually undermining that trust. His recent behavior toward Warrant Officer Beckett at the beginning and end of the outbound trip to Thedus was indicative of a pattern of behavior that had likely been escalating for years, he was certain. It was only a matter of time before he escalated from what amounted to being a “peeping Tom” (pun not intended) to committing outright sexual assault. Nor would it surprise him should he learn that Richwood may have crossed that line already on the occasional shore leave.

There were certain undesirable human personality traits that could not be allowed to fester on deep space missions - especially with a crew this small - and this sort of escalating sexual deviancy was one of them. Not only was it criminal and immoral, but it also could have devastating results on crew morale. Tom Richwood was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode, if not on this tour than sometime in the future. Ash had been ordered by the Captain to keep a close eye on the man when his duties permitted before they left Thedus. She didn't much like the idea that she hadn't caught on to what he was doing, even less that she might have been inadvertently turning a blind eye to it all this time.

Ash had added his professional assessment to the sealed complaint on file that Tom Richwood receive mandatory psychological treatment as early as possible upon return to Sol.

Captain Kim did not merit his professional worry. Due to her extensive military background, which included three tours of duty in the Colonial Marines and the psychological conditioning such a vocation required, she was well disciplined to handle the stresses of such long-term inactivity. She was likely the most well adjusted person he had ever met who worked deep space for a living.

Though he would normally be more concerned about the two crew members newest to deep space transit, he was most gratified to learn that Warrant Officer Kate Beckett and her husband, Communications Officer Richard Castle were finding “alternative means” to relieve stress, if the amount of noise, temperature rise and fogged cameras MIRA had reported from the communications blister in the past hour were any indication. It would seem that the married couple had a more than healthy method for killing time and venting the stress of their current predicament than anyone else on the ship.

Ash, on the other hand, could run problems in his head, then through MIRA over and over again without any sign of tension or boredom. He tried to contemplate on why that was, but something was keeping him from examining that concept too closely, such as why he didn't have a surname like most humans. A buzzing in his head that made him uncomfortable any time such subjects arose, encouraging him to turn his thoughts elsewhere.

“Any sign of a response to our presence?” Captain Kim asked him over the intercom.

“I've tried every response protocol in the manual, “Ash responded, “even had MIRA run a strictly mechanical code approach - both the old NASA pictograph and the SETI simple mathematics approach - and still nothing but the signal piggy-backed on the _Prometheus_ ' distress beacon. All other channels contain nothing but static except for a faint, steady crackle on zero-point-three-three.”

Ash checked his instrumentation and added, “MIRA reports that it's merely discharge from the system's star. If anyone, or anything is alive over there, they are either unable or unwilling to do more than call for help.”

Kim thought on that for a moment, then started for the bridge. When she arrived, she said, “Olivera, we have full power restored, lets shed some light on the situation. Power up the floods.”

Olivera nodded and made a few adjustments on her haptic display as the Captain took her seat. Seconds later, a chain of powerful lights sprang to life on the outer hull in all directions.

Wind and dust were more evident than before, but the storm seemed to have died down considerably since their landing. Isolated rocks, both large, small and in between dotted the landscape, worn smooth by untold centuries of wind and the abrasive erosion of the dust it carried across the blasted landscape. There was no sign of life anywhere, not even so much as a patch of lichen on the leeward side of a rock. Only more wind and dust swirling in the night of this alien planetoid circling a distant star.

“No oasis then,” Castle whispered as he entered the bridge and took his station, Kate only steps behind him, her hair tucked into a loose ponytail in a vain attempt to hide her “sex hair” from the rest of the crew.

Kim straightened in her seat on the bridge as she stared out into the windswept night.

“For all we know about this place, we might be looking at a quiet summer's day,” Kate whispered back.

“Unlikely,” Kim replied, hoping that the weather would not get much worse, “this rock is too small to produce any really violent weather.”

“We can't go anywhere in this,” Olivera complained, “not in the dark anyway.”

Ash looked up from his console and seemed almost serene in his contemplation. Richwood couldn't understand how the man did it. How he could remain so perfectly calm and unmoved by the predicament they currently found themselves in. The dust and weather outside had nearly burned out the engines on their way in, especially after listening to that damned alien signal for as long as the man had. In Ash's shoes, he would have been going bat-shit crazy by now.

Ash noted both Olivera's disquiet as well as Richwood's glare and offered what he hoped would be useful information to set them both at ease.

“According to MIRA, the local sun will be coming up in about twenty minutes. Whatever you will be going out to see, it won't be in the dark.”

“At least that's something in our favor.” Kim muttered, then stated with more conviction that she certainly felt at the moment, “If our callers can't or won't talk further I guess it's about time for us to suit up and pay them a visit.”

She paused for a moment and looked at Castle as she asked him, “How far are we from the source of the transmission?”

Castle studied his readouts, brought up a ground-level overlay plotter and let the computer run its calculations. “Roughly three thousand meters northwest of our position,” he stated.

“Over mostly level terrain,” Olivera added after checking her own terminal, “near as the sensors can detect.”

Kim turned again to Ash. “Composition of the terrain?”

“Seems to be much the same as was determined when we made out descent,” Ash replied. “Same composition we're sitting on right now as a matter of fact. Solid basalt with minor variations of minerals. I wouldn't rule out the possibility of a few natural wind-blown obstructions en-route though.”

“We'll try to keep an eye out, then,” Kim acknowledged.

Richwood was busily working at his station during this conversation, computing distance against suit time.

“At least our destination is close enough to walk to with out carrying additional oxygen,” he said, after his calculations spat out a number he was happy with.

“Yeah,” Kate added shooting a concerned look at Castle, “I don't much relish the idea of moving the ship in this mess. Gonna be hard enough to lift out of here as it is, and I don't like the idea of putting any more stress on the engines than we have to.”

“Okay,” Kim stated, “we know what to expect underfoot, what about the atmosphere?”

 _“Warning: external atmosphere is currently toxic to terrestrial based life forms,”_ MIRA chimed in, her avatar appearing under her dome in the ceiling, _“fifty percent nitrogen, twenty five percent carbon dioxide, ten percent methane, ten percent both gaseous and frozen ammonia. Scans indicate trace amounts of oxygen and hydrogen. Air pressure: ten to the fourth dynes per square centimeter. Current surface temperature: negative fifty-six point six-seven degrees centigrade. Full environmental suits required for extra-vehicular activity as well as full decontamination procedures prior to re-entry.”_

“I suppose it was unreasonable to expect that oasis Mr. Castle was hoping for,” Captain Kim stated with just enough snark in her tone that Castle knew she was only messing with him to lighten the mood followed by nervous chuckles all around. Kate did too, in spite of herself, half-wishing she'd thought of it first, but she was still too concerned with his safety to make light of the fact that he would be going out there without her.

“Just enough atmosphere to make vision bad,” Kim continued with a small sigh, “I'd have preferred no atmosphere at all, but we didn't get a say in the design of this rock.”

“You never know,” Castle quipped, falling back on humor as he always did, “this might be somebody's idea of paradise, maybe they're just inviting us over for brunch?”

Kate rolled her eyes at her husband, who seemed far too eager to go out into the planetoid's poisonous atmosphere in search of extra-terrestrial life for his own good. She really didn't like that he was going out there into potential danger without her, but was doing her best to hide her worry for his safety from everyone.

“No point cursing it,” Olivera chimed in, also jumping on the gallows humor bandwagon, which wasn't helping calm Kate's worries one bit, nor managing to convince herself really by the slight tremor in her voice, “better this than stepping off onto some big high gravity world where we'd have three hundred kph winds in a calm zone and ten or twenty gravities to cope with. At least we can walk around out there without generator support and exo-skeletal gear. You guys don't know when you're well off.”

“Funny that I don't feel well off,” Richwood complained, “I'd rather be in hyper-sleep.”

Something moved against Kate's ankles and she reached down to stroke behind Charlie's ears, setting off a round of purring. Kate was glad for the distraction. His cat-senses seemingly attuned to the fact that she needed comfort in a way that only a warm cat can provide.

“If I could trade places with you Beckett,” Olivera whispered to her, giving Charlie's ears a scratch of her own, “I would.”

“Not happening, Olivera,” Kim said with authority, “I need you and Castle to get us there, and with Richwood along I need at least one senior officer present to stand watch on the bridge while Ash monitors our progress from the science blister. Not to mention the rank seniority to ride herd on our intrepid engineers.” She wasn't about to explain in front of everybody that her other reason for bringing him along was to keep Beckett and Richwood separated as much as possible since he seemed to be fixating on her and bringing Beckett instead of him when he had seniority might make the man suspicious of her motives.

Kim turned to Kate, her features softened to the point of being almost apologetic, “I'm sorry Beckett, but I need your husband out there, and I need you in here. That's just the way it is.”

Kim rose from her seat, indicated to the rest of the landing party to do the same and started for the corridor.

“One more thing,” she added, her face absolutely serious, “we're probably faced with a dead derelict and a repeating beacon out there or we'd have heard from survivors by now, but I'm not taking any chances. I'm authorizing full arms on this operation. Richwood, break out the munitions.”

The Captain hesitated as Kate also rose from her seat to follow, “I meant it, four is the most I can let off the ship, Beckett.”

“I know, Captain,” Kate replied, “but I'll be damned if I'm not gonna see Rick off properly before he goes.”

* * *

It was absurdly hot in the engine room while Banhov and Granger worked on repairing the engine intake ducts. The heat primarily caused by the laser welding tool that Banhov was using in the confined space. MIRA would have known to compensate for the temperatures generated, but the air by the thermostat remained nearly constant while the air near the welder was oppressively hot. So intense was the heat, in fact that Banhov and Granger were both working shirtless and still dripping sweat all over their work pants.

“Not bad, if I do say myself," Banhov muttered, rising from his work, only to find Beckett standing close by. She had been there for quite a few minutes, as her jacket was folded over one arm and her uniform shirt had begun to stick to her chest.

“Hey, Beckett, I have question,” he stated loudly, to which Kate responded with little more than a nod of her head to get on with it. She had other things on her mind, and this detour to engineering had not been one of them.

“Yeah,” she muttered finally, “I'm listening.”

“Do we get to go out there too,” he asked, “or do we have to stay here until everything is fixed? Main and secondary power are restored and almost everything else is cosmetic. Can be finished in orbit.”

Kate looked Banhov up and down, her detective's instincts flaring at his tone and body language as he leaned over her with the welder still in hand.

“I asked the Captain much the same thing, and she told me no,” Kate stated, squaring her shoulders and not backing down an inch, “but that's not what's bothering you, is it?”

Kate crossed her arms over her chest and felt herself fall into interrogation mode, eyeing the two engineers as she would have two suspects in the box once upon a time.

“You two could care less about the expedition,” she stated flatly, “you're concerned about what they might find. Or have you two suddenly become high-minded devotees for pushing back the frontiers of science?”

“Hell no,” Banhov replied, not offended by Beckett's sarcasm in the least. “I am true devotee of pushing back frontiers of my bank account. I am curious only about shares in anything valuable that might be found.”

Kate actually managed to look bored, in spite of the seething anger she felt inside. In the end this was nothing new, considering the engineers' usual gripes about their contracts. It just pissed her off that she was being delayed from seeing off her husband by this bullshit.

“Don't worry,” she shot back, then leaned into Banhov's personal space in her best Muscovite accented Russian, “вы оба получите то, что приходит к вам ” _(You will both get what is coming to you)_

“I'm not doing any more work unless we're guaranteed full shares,” Granger stated impudently.

Kate bristled as she leveled both of them with her fiercest death glare, the sort that had reduced hardened killers to quivering children in the box. She'd had just about enough of their shit, and didn't know how the captain had put up with it, or them, for this long.

“You are both guaranteed, by contract,” Kate stated through gritted teeth, “that you'll receive a share in whatever we we find and if you two actually read the contracts you spend so much time bitching about then you'd both know that.”

Kate paused a moment to focus that glare first at Granger, then Banhov, both of whom flinched when her gaze was focused solely upon each of them.

“For the moment, I will ignore this little mutiny of yours,” she paused again to let the word _“mutiny”_ sink in with both of them, as the penalty for that was quite severe, “when I give my report to the Captain before she leaves, provided you both knock it off and get back to work.”

Granger's Adams apple bobbed up and down, before he lowered his gaze and backed off, returning to his repair station. Banhov continued to glare back at her for a moment, expecting her to back off like their last Warrant officer had done, but Kate Beckett, a woman half her predecessor's size and nowhere near his weight class didn't shrink back like that man would have done.

Banhov opened his mouth to say something, thought batter of it and shut it again. Like it or not, she was the ship's warrant officer. He had only just managed to find his way into Captain Kim's good graces and he didn't want to screw that up before she could keep her promise to intercede on their behalf about their contracts.

He'd made his point, as long as Beckett was true to her word and kept Granger's little slip of the tongue to herself, he figured it was better to leave it at that. He was a reasonable man when the situation demanded it, and he had to admit that he had more respect Kate Beckett's backbone than he'd had an hour before.

“Bitch,” Banhov muttered for Granger's benefit after Beckett was out of the room and safely out of earshot - this time without any real conviction behind it - before dropping the welding goggles back down over his eyes.

“Right,” Granger muttered as he went back to work handling the power train and sealant as Banhov snapped the welder back on and started patching another section of intake duct. He really didn't mean it either. It would seem they both shared a more healthy respect for their new Warrant Officer than they'd ever had for the previous one.

They also both decided by unspoken agreement, that it was time to get the work done so they could lift out of here when the Captain and the landing party came back. Nobody would accuse either of them of wanting to be here one moment more than necessary.

There was a new sheriff in town now, and they both knew better than to push their luck.


	5. The Long Walk

**Chapter Five**  
**The Long Walk**

* * *

 _Beckett: Are you done?_  
_Castle: No. Finally made it Mars. Didn't even have to go to astronaut training.  
_ Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Kate arrived at the main airlock just as the landing party rounded the opposite side of the corridor. Captain Kim, Richwood, Olivera and Castle were already dressed in their heavy boots, insulated jackets and work-gloves in addition to insulated work pants. It was obvious that they had been held up from disembarking by a stop to the ship's armory, by the pulse rifles (the civilian variant of the current military model) slung over their shoulders. The captain clearly still had some military connections as these weapons were most definitely _not_ the standard small arms for a Bison Class deep space tug's arms locker.

They all stopped in front of bulkhead bearing the sign: **Main Airlock: Authorized Personnel Only**.

Kate had always found the sign rather absurd in its redundancy as there was nobody on board a working vessel like the _Nostromo_ who wasn't authorized for all areas of the ship, including the airlock.

Richwood touched a switch and a protective shield slid up, revealing a keypad into which he punched in his access code. The bulkhead shifted toward them away from the wall then slid out of the way. Eight vacuum suits were arranged neatly along the walls of the airlock. They were bulky and awkward, but would be absolutely vital for the excursion in this planetoid's poisonous atmosphere. As each of the members of the landing party took their individual suits down and began the task of putting them on, Kate gave her report to the Captain.

“Banhov reports that the engine and duct repairs are proceeding apace, and we should be able to lift out of here in about ten hours, twelve on the outside.”

“Let me guess,” Captain Kim quipped, “the _Trouble Twins_ were grousing about their shares in whatever we find.”

Kate nodded, keeping Granger's threat of a work stoppage to herself for the time being. She figured Granger was just blowing smoke, as nobody on this ship wanted to be on this planetoid one minute longer than was absolutely necessary, including Banhov and Granger. If they were dumb enough to act upon it, she knew that Kim would lower the boom on them.

“Don't let those two run roughshod over you,” Kim told her, “you have my full support if you have to drop the heavy end of the hammer on them while I'm gone.”

Kate nodded, her shoulders straightening. She started to feel just a little bit more like Detective Beckett again, and it felt good.

“Now go say goodbye to your husband before you strain something,” Captain Kim added, making it sound almost like an order.

Kate did not have to be told twice before she rushed over to help Rick into his suit. She carefully checked and double checked all of the fasteners and seals and made a point of touching every filter and connection, double checking all of the Velcro fasteners that protected the suit seals and the packs that held his backup O2 supply before brushing her fingers over the letters of his name on the nameplate.

She remembered a moment not unlike this one shortly after she'd finished her stint with the FBI and had not yet gotten her job back. She remembered doing much the same with Rick's body armor before he went into the building to negotiate with a woman holding hostages who would only talk to Richard Castle. She only hoped that this time he would come back to her in better shape than he had that day. The words, _“Oh God, I just killed Richard Castle!”_ still echoed in her head along with the visual of him lying unconscious on the floor with a bullet lodged in his vest only inches within the protection of it's Kevlar shell.

She pulled a package out of her jacket, shielding it from prying eyes with her body as she opened it to reveal the sidearm she had once carried as a police detective, (as Warrant Officer she was designated as a peace officer and was legally authorized to carry arms while on board) specially modified to function in vacuum and slipped it into one of the pouches of his suit.

“For close encounters,” she whispered in his ear before drawing him into a long slow lingering kiss before drawing away, “and that's so you remember what you're coming back for.”

“Hey Beckett, you gonna...urk!” Richwood began, but was stopped by an elbow to the ribs and a harsh glare from Captain Kim.

“Not. Another. Word, Richwood,” Kim hissed before he could ruin the moment.

Kate paid Richwood no attention whatsoever, her focus solely on her man as she slid the domed helmet of the suit over his head and locked it into place, making sure all of the seals were functioning normally and he was getting enough oxygen - showing much more care than was truly necessary.

The others performed their own suit checks, then each others without further incident, following Captain Kim's less than subtle non-verbal order to allow the couple their moment. She felt bad enough about splitting them up as it stood before she got everyone's attention, tapped her helmet and said into her mic, “Comm check, I'm sending, everybody read?”

“I read you,” Richwood stated, still feeling a little peeved.

“Check,” Olivera muttered loud enough for her suit mic to pick up.

“Loud and clear,” Castle stated, sounding a little too chipper through her earpiece for Kate's liking, but she grinned a little anyway at his childlike enthusiasm in spite of herself.

“Come on, Angela,” Kim said, turning to Olivera in an attempt to improve morale, “I chose you for your expertise, not your sunny disposition.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain,” she replied. “Why me anyway? Castle can triangulate the direction to the origin point just as well as I can and I'm sure either Banhov or Beckett would just be thrilled to go.”

“Banhov has enough to do down in engineering, so we can lift out of here as soon as possible, you know that,” Captain Kim replied. “Besides, if something went wrong with the equipment, or we lost the signal, he couldn't navigate his hands to his ass with a map. I need Beckett here,” Kim spared a look at her Warrant Officer who had her forehead pressed to the face-plate of Castle's helmet, “to ride herd on those two jokers.”

Olivera nodded inside her helmet, her face a sullen mask.

“You can curse me out the whole way for all I care,” Kim continued, “as long as you and Castle get us to the source of that signal then back to the ship.”

“Yeah, wonderful,” Olivera quipped. “I might just take you up on that.”

“All right,” the Captain ordered, “we're burning oxygen here. Beckett, turn loose your man before he fogs up his helmet. It's time to get this show on the road.”

Kate stepped away from Castle, then with one long mournful look at her husband, cycled the outer airlock door closed. She watched it begin to pressurize to match the outside conditions and seal the door before she turned and jogged in the direction of the bridge.

“Weapons check, everyone,” Kim ordered, “lock and load, then keep them slung until I say otherwise.”

Each of them checked that their pulse rifles were fully loaded, ready to fire and could operate them with their heavy suit gloves on, then engaged the safeties and slung them. Even Castle's face took on a level of intensity as he slung his rifle then chambered a round in the modified Glock Kate had slipped into his suit pocket before putting it away.

“You _are_ expecting friendly company, right Captain?” Richwood asked. Kim ignored it.

“Beckett, Ash, you two on station?” she called out into her mic, suddenly all-business. She hadn't gone into a situation like this with almost no intel since her Colonial Marine days and she didn't like it. There were far too many unknown variables in play for her liking.

“I'm at Castle's station on the bridge,” came Kate's breathy reply. She must have run all the way to the bridge, Kim thought to herself.

“I relieved Ash here and he's on his way down to the science blister now,” Kate continued, “give him a couple minutes.”

“Check,” Kim replied. “Open the outer hatch.”

Richwood keyed in his code and the outer hatch popped out from the hull and slid aside with a puff of escaping gas as an elevator cage unfolded against one of the main landing struts and the four of them got their first unaided look at the planetoid's surface.

The predawn half-light was nearly burnt orange instead of the familiar, comforting yellow and blue of Earth, but Kim hoped that visibility would improve when this system's sun rose. What little light they had so far was just barely enough to see by, which was only a small comfort. Not that there was all that much to see on this barren rock in the middle of nowhere.

They filed into the lift cage whose track extended the outside length of the port-side landing strut and began the slow descent to the surface. The lift halted when it hit the end of its track just short of the foot of the strut. The gate unfolded from the front of the cage to form a ramp and the four spacesuit clad figures stepped onto the planetoid's surface for the first time.

The ancient lava flow was hard and unyielding underfoot as the ceaseless wind buffeted them, pelting them with seemingly endless amounts of dust. The four of them cast their eyes about the windswept landscape through the dust blown into their face-plates.

 _What a thoroughly depressing place_ , Olivera thought to herself.

She wasn't frightened by the locale. She had been to much less hospitable places in her career, though the inability to see very far was somewhat disconcerting. It was the thought of what waited for them out there in it after listening to that damned alien signal that unnerved her, in spite of the rifle she had slung over her shoulder.

By unspoken agreement, both herself and Castle had filtered the alien signal out of their audio pickups in lieu of the _Prometheus_ distress beacon for their nav-fix. It gave them all the willies.

Olivera pondered that Castle might think she was being overly hasty in her harsh assessment of the this place, but she didn't think so. This blasted landscape didn't hold a single distinguishing color to make it seem palatable, only a steady seepage of orange, brown, and the shifting shades of gray. The atmosphere overhead was the color of a failed science experiment and the ground reminded her of bat guano. Nothing to spark or warm her spirit at all. She pitied any creature that might call this planet home, but she had a gut feeling nothing did.

 _Perhaps Castle's right_ , she thought to herself, _perhaps this world was some creature's idea of paradise, but he'll have to forgive me if I have no desire to invite them in for sangria._

“Which way?” the captain asked, yanking her out of her contemplation and back to the task at hand.

“What?” she responded, shaking her head inside her helmet as if to clear the errant thoughts away.

“Which way, Olivera?” Kim explained.

“Sorry, just taking in our surroundings,” she said, “one moment.”

She turned and conferred with Castle a moment as they worked together to get their navigation fix, then applying it to her helmet's heads up display as a pointer in the proper direction, then with a final errant thought of her nice comfy console chair on the _Nostromo_ , she pointed in the direction of their signal.

“This way,” she said, taking the lead at the captain's silent urging.

With her in the lead, the group set off from underneath the the shelter of the _Nostromo_ and out into the maelstrom. Ten paces from the ship, she stopped, disgusted and made adjustments to her instruments.

“Now I can't see a damned thing,” she muttered followed by Ash's voice over her headset.

“Turn on the finder, it's set to the distress beacon.” Ash sounded so much like a science teacher it was maddening to her. “Let it lead you and don't mess with it, I set it myself.”

“It's on and tuned, _pendejo_ ,” she shot back, “you think I don't know my own job?”

“No offense,” Ash replied, sounding almost contrite enough for for her to feel bad about swearing at him... almost.

“Finder's working okay,” the Captain said over her own mic, “though you may wish to avoid close proximity to our navigator when we get back. You receiving us okay in this mess?”

Inside the science blister at the bottom of the ship, Ash switched his gaze from the small window and the increasingly dust obscured figures moving into the distance to the three stylized images standing out clearly on his brightly lit console. His fingers brushed a control on his chair, shifting his seat forward to bring him more in line with his instruments.

“I have you loud and clear, Captain,” Ash replied. “Good imaging on my board. I don't think I'll lose you. There's less interference here on the surface and the distress beacon is on a different frequency so I don't think I'll lose you nor should signal overlap be a factor.”

“Sounds good,” Kim replied, her voice sounding tinny and unnatural over the speaker, “we're receiving you clearly, but lets keep this channel open just in case. I don't wanna get lost out in this mess.”

“Understood, Captain,” Ash said, “I'll keep a nav-fix on you but won't trouble you again unless something comes up.”

“I read you,” she said in closing. “Kim out.”

Kim turned to the others, noticing that Olivera was waiting for her. “We're wasting time, move out.”

Olivera's attention returned to the task at hand as she turned on her heel into the direction her finder indicated, then set off wordlessly into the howling wind and dancing dust.

The lower gravity on the surface eliminated the burden of their suits and tanks, though they all wondered about the combination of minerals required to give a planetoid this small enough mass to generate the gravity it did have.

In her head, Kim set aside time in their stay for an in-depth geological survey, which was Banhov's influence she was certain. Though she was sure that both her chief engineer and his partner-in-crime would never let her live it down if she didn't at least put forth the effort. The two of them were insufferable as it was.

Weyland-Yutani would, of course claim any such discovery, as they were here on company time and using company resources and equipment. On the other hand, if the find here was significant enough to warrant a follow up, it could mean some serious bonuses for everyone. This unscheduled stop might just be worth getting them out of bed for after all.

The wind drove at them as they walked, pelting them every step of the way with dust.

“Can't see more than three meters in any direction,” Olivera muttered.

“Quit griping,” Richwood grumbled in response.”

“I like griping,” Olivera shot back, giving as good as she got.

“Come on guys,” Castle cut in, “quit acting like a couple of little kids, this isn't the place for it.” he wasn't sure how he had become the grownup here.

“Wonderful little place though,” Olivera observed as if Castle hadn't spoken, sarcasm dripping from every word, “completely unspoiled by man or nature. Great place to be... if you're a rock.”

“That's about enough,” Kim commanded, frustration in her tone, “out of all of you.”

Olivera went quiet after that, muttering under her breath. Kim let it go, allowing the navigator her coping mechanisms so long as she kept them to herself for the time being.

Suddenly Olivera stopped walking and grumbling, her eyes fixed, the signal had disappeared from her finder.

“What's wrong?” Kim asked, concerned.

“Hang on,” Olivera replied, making adjustments to her equipment and the pointer that had disappeared from her HUD soon reappeared.

“Lost the signal for a moment,” she explained, “got it back now.”

“Any problems?” Ash asked over the open channel.

“Nothing major,” Kim reported, “local conditions interfered with the signal for a moment, we have it back now.”

“Understood,” Ash acknowledged, “you may be entering rougher terrain that could be blocking the signal. If you lose it again, let me know and I'll try to guide you back to where you can find it again.”

“We'll keep that in mind, but for now we're good,” Kim answered. “Let you know if that changes.”

“Check, Ash out.”

The group moved on through the orange dust without any conversation to break the silence before Olivera stopped again, this time to change their heading, she pointed to her left and struck off again. Olivera and Castle's focus was fixed on their instruments while Kim and Richwood's attention was fixed on them. Conversation was kept to a minimum from then on.

* * *

Meanwhile back on the bridge, Kate monitored their progress and the communication between them and Ash, careful not to interrupt. She had Castle's noise-canceling headset firmly over her ears as she performed maintenance on the bridge consoles.

Several relays had burned out, nothing critical, but she took it upon herself to pull the toolkit from under the science console and set to replacing them so she would not obsess over their progress. In times like these she didn't care much for inactivity, even though her gaze strayed to Castle's empty chair on the bridge more times than she cared to admit.

“It's close,” Olivera's voice crackled over the headset, “very close.”

Kate wished Castle wasn't so quiet, that he was more like his usual verbose, jovial, smart-ass self. It would make her feel better just to hear his voice if only over a cracking static-laced connection.

“How are they doing?” Kate asked Ash over the intercom, careful to stay off the open channel. She tried to keep the worry and uncertainty out of her tone.

“All right so far,” Ash replied.

“Where are they?” she asked, startled a little when the main view-screen flared to life with a copy of the readout from Ash's console down in the science blister showing a graphic representation of the four members of the boarding party, each notated by an upside down arrowhead under their their names over their heads. She sometimes forgot that Ash also doubled as their unofficial shrink.

“Getting close to the source,” Ash explained, "but they've moved into rocky terrain and it interferes with the signal on their end. But they're closing on it and should be there soon.”

“Speaking of the signal,” Kate inquired, “haven't we gotten any new insight into it by now?”

“Not yet,” Ash replied, sounding a little more evasive than Kate liked.

“Have you tried running it through ECIU for detailed analysis?” Kate pressed, her usual instinct to push when somebody evaded her questions flaring.

“Look Beckett,” Ash responded firmly, shocking Kate with the level of vehemence in his voice, “I want the details as much as you do, but MIRA hasn't sorted it out yet, why mess with it?”

“Mind if I give it a shot?” Kate asked, dialing back, taking a more passive tack.

“Be my guest,” Ash responded, almost sounding chastened, as if his harsh response was a surprise, even to him, “can't do any harm and it is something for you to do, I suppose. Let me know if you find anything.”

“Who knows?" Kate quipped, trying to sound chipper, “I might get lucky.”

Kate settled a little deeper into Castle's chair on the bridge. It smelled like him, which made her feel a little better about being alone on the bridge, especially now that she could follow the landing party's progress on the main screen any time she felt the need to look.

She engaged the ECIU function on Castle's console and brought up the Alien signal for analysis. The disconcerting sound of it once again echoed through the bridge and once again sending unholy crawling shivers down her spine. She turned the volume down. It was disquieting enough to listen to on low gain.

“Get a grip, Katie,” she whispered out loud to herself as she settled down to work, her long buried detective's instincts coming to the fore as she settled herself into the mystery of the Alien signal, again wondering if it actually was a voice. She was fully aware of the incredibly low possibility of her finding something when MIRA could not.

But like Ash said, she needed something to do. Something to occupy her mind while she sat alone on the darkened, empty bridge. A reason not to dwell on her worry that Castle was out there somewhere getting closer to that strange alien signal while she was here, safe on the ship and unable to protect him, or stand with him. Better to busy herself with make-work than letting her worst imaginings run away with her.

* * *

As LV-426's sun continued to rise, the reddish sky above them began to lighten into more of a sickly yellow which still not even a passing resemblance to the warm yellow and blue of Earth, but it was a vast improvement for the landing party as they continued to march in the direction of the alien signal.

The storm had died down, as if giving way to the gathering dawn, allowing the dust to settle, which improved visibility considerably. As Ash had predicted, the terrain had indeed become more hilly as they moved closer to the signal and they had been steadily climbing for nearly an hour.

Even in this terrain, there were few sharp projections aside from the occasional basalt outcropping which had somehow been sheltered from the wind until now. The rest of the ancient lava flow had apparently been ground smooth by untold ages of the steady wind and relentless dust.

Castle had pulled ahead of Olivera as they sought to once again regain the signal, the third time that had lost it in the terrain, only once having to backtrack to find it. He had hoped to find it as they cleared the rise. As he reached the top, he had fully expected to see another rolling incline before him much like the previous two had been.

What he saw instead made his blood pressure rise and cause him to draw up short.

“Holy Shit!” he exclaimed, “Guys... guys!”

“What is it?” Olivera asked, nearly bumping into him, he'd stopped so suddenly. “What's the mat... oh...” she was suddenly struck dumb as she too caught sight of what had drawn the mystery novelist-turned Comm Officer up short.

Everyone had expected the alien signal to have come from something, but they had been so consumed by the task of following it to it's point of origin, none of them had considered what they'd actually find. This was most definitely _not_ the _USCSS Prometheus_ , as they had secretly been expecting (even Castle). This was something entirely different, and for lack of a better word, alien.

It was a ship, a space-faring vessel to be sure, but definitely not one of human manufacture. Kim wasn't sure she could describe it as ominous in appearance, but it was disturbing in a way could not immediately quantify.

The massive derelict's lines were clean, but somehow unnatural to the eye, which struck them all with its unsettling abnormality. It towered over them and the surrounding surface on which it sat, in spite of the massive gouge it had carved into the surrounding landscape when it had crashed there. From what they could tell, it had landed belly down but unlikely from a controlled descent like theirs had been, given the debris field stretching behind it for about a quarter mile.

It's general shape was that of a massive _“U”_ with the two horns of the bent slightly inward toward each other. One arm was slightly shorter than the other and bent in more sharply than the longer one, which Kim assumed was by design since there didn't appear to be any structural damage.

As they drew closer, it was apparent that the ship's hull thickened toward the curved portion of the _“U”_ with a series of concentric mounds giving the impression of thick plates rising toward a dome in the center, which Kim theorized might be where the ship's living spaces and engines were.

The vessel appeared dead, showing no signs of either life, power or activity, only the repeating alien signal, - which at this range had become almost deafening - gave any indication of activity. The latter of which made them quick to lower the gain on their suit receivers, though it still seemed to vibrate around them, putting them all a little on edge.

Whatever the ship was made out of, it was somehow impervious to the wind and dust and it gleamed in a sickly reflection of the available light. It was unlike any alloy she had ever seen before, and she had seen plenty. There was nothing on the hull that appeared to be a weld, joint or seal that would provide any idea for how the ship had been constructed, which gave the eerie impression the ship had been grown instead of manufactured. Something that gave her the willies.

The only break in the seamless hull was a fissure near the port side which was blackened around the edges in such a way that hinted at the detonation of a ship's main reactor at close proximity. Which she only knew because she had seen it happen once.

“If the _Prometheus_ had struck the alien ship and her reactor went critical, that would explain why her beacon was present, there would be escape pods all over the place," Kim theorized, not realizing she was speaking aloud.

“Ash, you seeing this?” Kim inquired over the open channel, sweeping her suit camera over as much of the alien ship as she could capture this close.

“Yes, I see it,” Ash replied. “Your transmission isn't completely clear now that you're at the source of the alien signal. I've never seen anything quite like it, neither does it correlate to anything in the database. MIRA can't make anything of it either. Is it as big as it looks?”

“Bigger,” Kim acknowledged, this damn thing is massive. Whomever these people are they are a lot more advanced than us.”

Olivera couldn't help a burst of nervous laughter, “Guess we'll find out, providing there's any of em about to give us a welcome.”

“We aren't that far away,” Castle cut in after checking his gear, “and within line of sight of the _Nostromo_ , you should be getting a clearer signal from us.”

“Can you give me anything definitive on that?” Kim requested. Castle had raised a valid point.

“I'm afraid not, Captain,” Ash replied, “I can read you and the landing party with only minor interference and I can read the outer hull of the ship, but I can't get any kind of reading from inside. It's like the sensors are being reflected back somehow.”

“Reflected back?” Richwood choked out, incredulous.

“Affirmative,” Ash reported. “There is a high probability that I will lose your signal when you go inside.”

“Understood, Ash,” Kim acknowledged, “we'll see what happens when we go in.”

Kim pondered her options as she contemplated the alien derelict along with the rest of the landing party. She knew that tracking the signal to its source and taking some video of the ship was not going to be enough to satisfy company guidelines. The company brass would want more information than that. They would have to go inside and do a more thorough investigation, try to find out not just why this ship was here, but why it had come to be transmitting on _USCSS Prometheus'_ carrier wave. To come this far without doing a reconnaissance of it's interior for the science teams that would come later would not go over well. More than one trip out here may be necessary, including the probability of having Beckett bring the _Nostromo_ closer.

More than that, her own curiosity was piqued. The same curiosity that had driven mankind from their caves and eventually into the stars in the first place. She wanted to know and she could tell that at least Mr. Castle was curious too. She only hoped that same curiosity did not wind up being the one that killed the cat. To that end she came to the only decision she could really see open to her under the present circumstances.

“It looks dead enough from out here,” She called out to Ash, “we'll take a look inside and see what we can find.”

“If nothing shows itself...” Castle began.

“Yeah,” Olivera added, silencing him with a glare, not unlike the ones Kate had leveled on him when he first started following her.

“We'll see,” Kim replied.

One by one, they stepped into the opening in the ship's hull and one by one they disappeared from Ash's screen, much to Kate's horror. Even though she had been listening in and knew it was likely, the bottom still seemed to drop out of her.

“Captain?” Ash called out,“Captain Kim, do you read?”

“Castle!” Kate called out over the open channel, her voice consumed by dread, _“Castle!”_

The constant hiss and pop of static was their only response.


	6. Close Encounters

**Chapter Six**   
**Close Encounters**

* * *

_Castle: I'm betting it's a xenomorph stranded here on Earth,_  
 _attracted to the simulation because it needs the toxic environment._  
 _Probably saw Tom as encroaching on its territory and killed him for it._  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

After the four of them had stepped into the fissure in the derelict’s hull, the comms had all gone dead - even the carrier wave from the open channel was gone. As they walked deeper into the vessel, Castle kept trying at regular intervals, to no avail.

“ _Nostromo_ do you read? Kate? Ash? Can you hear me, over.”

“Give it a rest, Castle,” Olivera snapped at him, irritated, “Ash warned us this might happen.”

Castle turned to her, a mix of worry, dread, and hurt in his eyes and Olivera immediately felt sorry for taking her frustrations and fears out on him. That this was likely the furthest apart he and his wife had been outside of hyper-sleep in years suddenly dawned on her. He wasn't afraid for them, he was concerned for Beckett's state of mind. She actually found it strangely... _sweet_.

_If only I had somebody in my life as thoughtful of me as he is of Beckett_ , she thought to herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Richwood's voice in her headset.

“There’s a big chamber back here,” he stated.

Castle and Olivera followed Kim and Richwood through a doorway that towered over them, giving them an idea - or at least an imagining - of the size of this vessel's crew, then down a short corridor.

They emerged into a large room with an impressively vaulted ceiling barely discernible in the dim light. The walls were a dull gray, adorned with rounded metal ribs that ran along the floor, ceiling and walls. The ghostly light from outside gave the place all the charm of a haunted cathedral, increasing Castle's sense of dread.

Kim turned her eyes on Richwood. “What do you think?”

“Just guessing here, mind you, but if the inhabitants of this ship were to this scale what we are to the _Nostromo_ , they’d likely need doors and rooms this size. But I have to admit this feels more like a cargo-hold to me.”

“Nothing’s taken notice of our entry. I don’t think there’s anyone left alive in here,” Kim replied. Leaning over a gaping hole in the floor, she unclipped her light, flipped it on and directed it down into the shaft.

“Where do you think it goes?” Olivera asked as she looked for herself, keeping well away from the edge.

“No way of telling from here,” Kim observed. “I can’t see the bottom and there's no indication of an elevator, ladder or other means of descent. Might be an air shaft, or vent of some kind.”

Kim turned off her light and moved back from the edge of the opening as Richwood began unclipping gear from his belt and backpack, which he laid out on the floor as he swept his own lights around the dimly illuminated chamber.

“Whatever’s down there can wait.” Kim ordered, “Let’s have a look around first. We may find an easier way down. Spread out… but not too far. No less than a a few meters apart and stay in the light.”

Castle and Olivera activated their own suit lights as they spread out to perform a detailed search of the room.

“Over here!” Castle shouted, momentarily forgetting proper comm etiquette, as he pointed excitedly to a half-open doorway that had been in the shadow of one corner. The door moved aside easily on whatever mechanism it was set into when he and Richwood tugged sharply on it.

Kim’s light fell unexpectedly on a shape in the dim light that was part of neither the wall or floor, nor in fact did it resemble in any way the ship they were inside of. In fact, the the shape seemed... familiar. Upon closer inspection, it was an escape pod of terrestrial manufacture.

“Over here!” Kim shouted into her mic.

“Something wrong?”

“It's an escape pod, one of ours.”

Castle, Richwood and Olivera rushed to join her.

“Looks like we found the source of the _Prometheus_ beacon anyway,” Castle commented as he examined the entry panel to the pod, debating whether to open it. “Wonder how long it’s been in here.”

“My guess, nearly thirty years,” Olivera quipped nervously.

They turned to Olivera, who had confirmed what Kim had already guessed. She was holding her finder, the same instrument that had led them here from the _Nostromo_. “The pod's automatic distress beacon was the source of the signal, all right,” she commented.

Kim ran a small instrument over the surface of the escape pod's doorway before keying the entry override code she'd memorized a long time ago. She'd done more than her share of rescue and recovery operations as a Marine.

The door popped outward and slid cleanly away with a puff of stale air, to reveal the mummified corpse of a blond woman laying on her back on the floor of the pod, five paces from the entryway, her face contorted in horror and pain, her chest blown open as if from an explosion within.

She'd seen bodies in a worse mess than this in her days in the Marines, dealing with piracy and colonial revolts - so, it would seem, had Castle. From what she'd read of his file, she gathered that he was no stranger to gruesome crime scenes after working as a consultant to the NYPD homicide division for ten years. Suddenly, she almost wished she'd brought Beckett instead of Olivera, who was standing next to Richwood staring at the corpse, both of them frozen in shock and revulsion.

Kim knelt next to the body, looking for documents, something to tell her what had happened, but came up empty except for a set of identity tags on a chain around her neck, not unlike the ones they all wore. She had obviously died suddenly after ejecting in her pod, with little time to leave a recording to supplement the distress signal from the pod.

“Name on her uniform reads Shaw,” Kim stated.

“Elizabeth Shaw,” Castle rattled off, having memorized the ship's crew manifest, before he paled having finally placed the name. “Oh, god... Meredith...”

“What is it Castle?” Kim asked, suddenly concerned.

“Meredith, my first ex-wife, rarely mentioned her mother... just up and disappeared when she was young, I never quite placed the date until now. This woman is my daughter's maternal grandmother.”

Castle had been long past grieving over Meredith Chase's departure from his and Alexis' lives. She had made her bed after she had soiled theirs with a movie director she wanted a part from and had been content to lie in it ever since. That was that as far as he was concerned. He had only kept trying to keep her in their lives for Alexis' sake afterward.

He knew that Meredith's mother had worked for the company, she'd had a trust through the Weyland-Yutani Corporation's insurance division, which she'd burned through long before changing her last name and becoming an actress. One night, late in her pregnancy with Alexis, she'd confessed it to him, along with her lack of desire to ever be a mother. He'd put it down to hormones at the time, and her behavior after Alexis had been born, to postpartum depression.

After she'd cheated on him with the director, their mostly amicable divorce and her subsequent departure from their lives, he'd begun to have his doubts. Now he had a bit more to his first ex-wife's story than he'd had back then. She'd run to avoid being attached, to avoid Alexis becoming attached to her. He almost felt sorry for her now, in a way he hadn't before.

“Thirty years," Castle whispered aloud to no one in particular, “timing fits, Mer would have been almost fifteen when the Prometheus left on its mission.”

Kim noticed something clutched in Elizabeth Shaw's long desiccated fingers, a pendant of sorts, and prized it out as gently as she could. It lit up almost immediately with the image of a thirteen year old girl with bright red hair and a mischievous smile.

“This her?” Kim asked.

“Yeah,” Castle replied sadly, “we were both in our twenties when we met, but I'd know that look anywhere. She looks so much like Alexis in this, it's almost scary.”

“Take it, then,” Kim offered softly, handing the medallion to Castle, “you're the closest thing this woman has to next of kin.”

Castle slipped it into one of his suit's pockets and moved to the pod's control console, switching off the emergency beacon. He considered the idea of sending it to Meredith, but knew she'd be more likely to throw it away, like she had everything else of her mother's. Alexis, however, would appreciate a memento from the grandmother she never knew.

“Something or somebody must have been alive aboard the derelict after this," Castle theorized. “The comm panel shows that the pod's emergency beacon was activated at 21:30 hours Zulu on 22 April 2122. It records that the alien signal was piggy-backed to its carrier wave two days later.”

“And our body here?” Kim asked, but Castle was lost in his own thoughts.

“According to the pod's internal sensors,” Olivera stated, after carefully easing Castle out of the way, giving him an almost sympathetic glance as she went, to take his place at the the pod's control panel, “her life signs went into overdrive then flat-lined shortly after the pod was ejected. The pod door had opened and closed only once after that.”

“Any idea who entered and left the pod?” Kim asked.

“Nothing seems to be recorded,” Olivera whispered, “like whomever entered was somehow either invisible to, or blocked the pod's sensors, though the system did record access to the maintenance panel of the pod's transmitter, before the door closed two hours later.”

“So,” Castle rattled off on autopilot, his voice flat, “after the collision, they crashed here, damaging their own long-range transmitter. They brought the pod aboard, found Shaw dead and co-opted the pod's beacon to transmit their own distress call?”

“Seems as plausible a theory as any,” Kim replied, leaving Castle suddenly wishing that the most reasonable conclusion to fit the facts hadn't sounded so much like one of his crazy theories.

On their way out of the pod, both Castle and Kim took a last, long look inside. _I'll make the company send somebody out here, contact the Colonial Marines if I have to_ , Kim thought to herself, the chain holding Elizabeth Shaw's tags in her hand. _Nobody deserves to be left out here like this..._

“Anyone else find anything?’ Kim requested as the pod door cycled shut.

Both Olivera and Richwood shook their heads. “Nothing but more ribbed walls and the local dust.” Richwood sounded discouraged. He had clearly been hoping for that easier way down Kim had mentioned.

“No indication of another opening leading to a different part of the ship or other floor gaps?” Both Richwood and Olivera indicated the negative. “I guess that leaves us with the shaft then.”

“However you slice it,” Kim said, as they retraced their steps, back to the lip of the flush, circular opening, “our choices come down to one of three options: look down below, blow a hole in a wall or go back outside and hunt for another entrance.” She looked across the shaft at Richwood. “Here's your big chance to impress me, Tom.”

The exec looked indifferent, but inside he was excited. The captain had been cold and distant since they'd roused from hyper-sleep - since they'd left Thedus Station, now that he was really thinking about it - and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

“As you wish,” he quipped, hoping to prove his worth, even though he had no idea what he'd done to get on her bad side. _Yeah_ , he thought to himself, _I may have laid things on a bit thick with Castle's wife, but I never laid a hand on her... my fantasies of what I'd do if I had her between the sheets are nobody's business._

Captain Kim was ex-military, a straight shooter. They went back a long way. He was certain she would have told him if Beckett had filed a grievance. So he'd resolved to show his competence, and his willingness to get the job done. After Beckett moved on like the others who couldn't handle what he considered to be harmless fun, everything would return to normal between them again.

“If I’m feeling generous, I may even tell you about the diamonds,” he quipped, his eyes alight with mischief.

“What diamonds?” Kim asked, one eyebrow quirked.

“The ones I’m going to find spilling out of old alien crates down there.” He smiled crookedly as he gestured down the shaft, then eyed Kim. “You ready?”

“Almost there, wait one,” the captain replied.

While Olivera had been helping Richwood make the necessary adjustments to affix the climbing gear hookup to his suit harness, Castle and the Captain had been busy assembling a metal tripod with a winch attached. Castle gave it a careful once-over, then the two of them positioned it over the center of the shaft and secured the three legs to the deck with metal spikes, breathing a sigh of relief that they punched through and held without difficulty.

Castle manually unwound a section of cable, affixed it to Richwood's safety harness, locked it tight and checked it by pulling on it with all his weight. It held fast.

“Once your feet touch bottom, you're to be down there for no more than ten minutes,” Kim stated in her best command tone, the one that had shoved a ramrod into the spine of every Marine she'd ever commanded. “Do not unhook the line under any circumstances. I don't care if you see a full treasure hoard just out of reach, you read me?”

“Aye, aye, skipper,” Richwood replied with a mock salute before he sat down, swung his legs over the edge and pushed off into the middle of the opening.

“If you don't signal me that you're heading up in ten minutes, at eleven minutes I’ll hit the override and yank you out,” Kim warned. “Understood?”

“Relax, mom, I’ll behave,” he quipped as he hung in the gap.

“You do that, Tom,” Kim scolded, not amused in the slightest by his flippancy, “keep us informed as you descend, report any changes, no matter how minor.”

“Check,” Richwood acknowledged before he activated the winch and thrust out with his legs, rappelling down the smooth sides as he was slowly lowered into the shaft. He switched on his light and pointed it downward, nothing but its smooth sides descending beyond the range of his lights.

“Ambient temperature is rising as I descend,” he reported ten minutes into his descent after consulting his suit’s sensors. “Heat must be rising from below. Shaft could be a heat sink for the engine room, or may even regulate the ship's temperature out in space.”

After several more minutes of rappelling his way down the shaft, he stopped to catch his breath. The temperature was rising exponentially the farther down he went, placing a heavier burden on his suit’s cooling system. His labored breathing worried him. He knew the others could hear it and he didn’t want to be yanked back up. He had something to prove. Richwood leaned back on the cable to look up the mouth of the shaft and saw light glinting off something smooth and reflective in the distance.

“You okay down there?” Kim asked.

“Yes ma'am, it's really getting hot though.” He sucked in a deep lungful of air then let it out slowly to get it under control.

“Any change in your surroundings?” Kim asked. “Or the walls of the shaft?’

“Still the same as far as I can see,” he replied, “how am I set for line?’

Kim checked the spool of wire and got back to him. “Over fifty meters left. If you still haven't struck bottom after that we’ll have to haul you back up and come back with a longer spool from the ship.”

“How much further can it be?” Richwood quipped.

* * *

Kate had been tempted to give up the analysis she had begun of the alien signal, but she was stubborn and kept at it with the same level of determination she had whenever a murder investigation had stalled and she'd found herself glaring at the murder board in the precinct.

Besides, puttering around with the ECIU board certainly beat wandering around the ship or sitting in the captain's chair staring at Castle's vacant seat, which she was currently occupying. It kept her mind focused, kept her from drowning in the same darkness that had claimed her during the two months after he had been abducted on their wedding day.

Sometimes, MIRA could be unintentionally evasive if she didn't parse the questions put to her the way you intended. That's the trouble with computers, she thought to herself, they have no intuitive sense, you have to ask the right way.

She wished fervently that the response from MIRA had been more vague though, or that it had simply been one of Castle's wild, off-the-wall theories which she could roll her eyes at and ignore for the thought-provoking intellectual bait that they generally were. But it wasn't vague, which meant she had a job to do.

“Ash, you read?” she called out after jabbing the intercom.

“What is it, Beckett?” Ash acknowledged, sounding almost annoyed.

“I finally got something out of my ECIU search,” she stated.

“Congratulations,” he replied, his tone patronizing.

“I'm not looking for a pat on the head,” she snapped. “MIRA's deciphered part of the alien transmission and if I'm reading this right, it might not be an SOS.”

Ash went silent, but only for an instant. Kate marveled at his self-control.

“If it’s not a distress call, then what is it?” he asked quietly.

“MIRA isn't positive,” Kate replied, “but she thinks that the signal may actually be a warning.”

“What kind of warning?” Ash asked incredulously.

“What difference does that make?!” Kate shouted into the intercom.

“There's no reason to shout,” Ash stated calmly, leaving Kate feeling even more patronized than before. Something had always seemed off about the man. Like he knew things that he shouldn't, that he saw the world in a strange, disconnected fashion that just naturally set her on edge.

_Bracken_ , she thought to herself, _he reminds me too much of William Bracken_.

Kate counted backwards from ten in her head, first in English, then in Russian to calm herself. Losing her temper with the man wasn't the way to get through to him and she knew that. “We have to get a message through to the Captain, she needs to know right away!”

“You're absolutely right,” Ash replied, his tone cool as a glacier, “but there’s nothing we can do. Once they went inside the alien ship, we lost their signal. Either their proximity to the alien transmission, the composition of the vessel’s hull or both have blocked every attempt I've made to raise them. You can try yourself, if you don't believe me.”

“I’m not questioning your competence,” Kate replied, doing her best to keep her voice even, “If you say we can’t get through, I believe you. But damn it, we’ve got to find some way to let them know.”

“What would you suggest?” he asked.

She hesitated, then offered firmly, “I could suit up and go in person.”

“I don’t think that's wise,” Ash responded.

“That an order, Ash?” Kate was fully aware that in this situation the science officer outranked her, but rank had never stopped her from doing what she thought was right before (even when she turned out to be wrong), her superiors in both the NYPD and the FBI had learned the hard way.

“No, simply a request for common sense,” Ash responded, his knowledge of her psych profile providing him with the only argument he knew would sway her, “I know you don’t like me all that much. I also understand that your husband is out there and you're worried about him, but I need you to view this rationally.”

He stopped for a moment, aware that he was walking a tightrope with her, one that many before him had failed to either see or balance on properly, including her husband. He had to phrase his argument just the right way to get through to her.

“The ship simply cannot spare you,” he continued, “between you, Banhov, Granger and myself, we have the bare minimum crew complement to get the ship off this rock. If something does go wrong over there and the Captain and Olivera are incapacitated, you are the only one left aboard rated to pilot the ship in atmosphere.”

He paused again for emphasis, then added, “We've no reason to assume anything is amiss over there. Even if the signal was a warning, that warning was broadcast nearly thirty years ago for a threat that may have long since passed.”

“All right,” Kate admitted grudgingly, “I see your point, but I still think someone should go after them.”

Ash sighed over the intercom. “What purpose would that serve?’ He asked evenly, like he was talking to a small child. “In the time it would take for one of us to get suited up and hike all the way over there, any danger would likely have presented itself already.” When Kate didn't reply, he continued his train of thought. “And if not, you will have put the entire ship at risk for nothing and your husband will be left to wonder whether you trust him enough to carry out his duties effectively. Do you really want that hanging over your head?”

Ash's last statement deflated all of Kate's resolve.

It had taken both Rick and herself several years - both in and out of therapy - to work through the lingering trust issues that had first arisen during their partnership at the NYPD and had continued to fester through their intimate relationship and the early years of their marriage. The last thing she wanted was to unravel all of the hard work they had put into sorting out their shared emotional baggage. It hurt too much to even think of it.

Ash had stabbed her in the heart with his words and effectively sucked all of the fight right out of her. She hadn't felt this emotionally wrecked since the early days of her sessions with Doctor Burke.

She sat in Castle's chair on the bridge with her legs pulled up banded by her arms, her face pressed into her knees, trying not to cry as she stared at the main screen hoping for some sign of a suited figure with her husband's name on it, hoping Ash was right. She hadn't hoped to be wrong, to have misread the evidence somehow, so deeply in her entire life.

Her attitude might have changed if she could have seen his console monitor. She would have found it equal parts interesting and infuriating…

* * *

Refreshed by the brief pause in his descent, which had allowed his suit's internal thermostat to adapt to the environment, Richwood reactivated his winch controls. He kicked off from the wall of the shaft once, then twice, but on his third, his booted feet contacted nothing but empty air, which left him swinging in the darkness on the end of the cable.

“Shaft has opened into some kind of room,” he reported, breathing hard from the exertion of his efforts to stop his swinging. He still had no idea what waited below, but hoped that this new room was of similar dimensions to the one above. Being alone, suspended in the black on the end of a cable with only his inner demons for company, was not doing good things for his state of mind.

He did his best to shake it off and keep his mind on diamonds, like he had been joking about with Olivera and the Captain. Bright, clear, flawless ones fat with carats, to keep his mind off the less savory prospects of the claustrophobic tomb that had been the Prometheus' escape pod. He'd already seen enough on this damned planetoid to fuel his nightmares for the entire trip home.

“See anything?” Captain Kim asked over his headset.

Startled, Richwood jerked reflexively which started him swinging wildly on the end of the cable again. He took a moment to steady his nerve along with his swing, before he trusted himself to respond. The Captain's sudden request had made him feel better, however. The calm, measured cadence of her voice made him feel like he wasn’t completely alone in the dark.

“No, nothing yet,” he finally reported back, “I'm clear of the shaft, there’s a room of some kind below.”

“Keep a hold of yourself, Richwood," the Captain replied. “Look on the bright side: if it's a cargo-hold then you should be swimming in those diamonds of yours any minute now.”

They both chuckled nervously at that, though Kim’s sounded much more hollow in Richwood's ears.

“It's really damn hot down here,” Richwood added.

“What’s the air like? Aside from hot, I mean,” Olivera asked.

He checked his suit's readouts via the HUD in his helmet, then replied, “Pretty much the same as outside. High nitrogen content, little or no oxygen. Water vapor concentration’s higher though, likely due to the heat. I can take a sample for Ash to play with if you want.”

“Never mind,” Kim replied, “let me know when you hit bottom.”

Richwood thumbed a switch on his belt, recording the approximate atmospheric composition and had his suit controls take the sample anyway. That should make Ash happy, he thought to himself.

So completely had the darkness enveloped him that when his boots came in contact with the floor, he nearly stumbled over in shock. Steadying himself, he deactivated the winch and set it to neutral. Though he knew it would be awkward to trail the tie-line around, he also knew the captain would have a fit if she found out he'd released himself. The _Nostromo_ might be a civilian transport vessel, but he knew the difference between a request and a direct order.

He swept his lights around the chamber finding odd, egg-like formations lining the walls from floor to ceiling in neat, orderly patterns. They appeared softer, more flexible in appearance than the metallic ribs that reinforced this ship's bulkheads, yet didn’t quite give him the impression of having been stowed like cargo. Too much space in the vaulted chamber was left empty.

Not that Richwood had any idea what the things were, nor did he see fit to waste time speculating upon how a completely alien race might choose to stock a cargo hold. He would gladly leave such free-range speculation to their warrant officer's husband. Richard Castle was the one with the writer's imagination, after all. The only thing he wanted to conjure up in his imagination was boning the lucky bastard's wife.

“You all right down there, Richwood?” Captain Kim asked.

He realized he'd been quiet for far too long, contemplating Beckett's firm behind instead of where he was and what he was doing. _Get your mind back on the job, Tommy Boy_ , he thought to himself, _plenty of time to daydream about what Beckett could do with those long, gorgeously toned legs later._

“Yeah," he called back. “Wish you were down here to see this.”

“See what?” Kim asked, “What have you found?”

“Not sure,” Richwood replied, “but it’s definitely weird.”

“What are you talking about, Tom?” Kim asked. "This whole damned ship is weird. I need more detail than that for the official report.”

“Okay,” he replied, “I’m in another big chamber like the one where you are, but a lot darker and there are these odd egg-shaped things attached to the walls and floor.”

* * *

Up at the top of the shaft, Kim glanced at Olivera and asked, “How long until sunset?”

Olivera studied her instruments briefly. “Twenty minutes," she replied, accompanied by a meaningful glance down the shaft. Kim raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment and turned her attention back to the shaft. She didn't want to make the trip back to the Nostromo after dark either.

Castle was still strangely silent, which Kim and Olivera felt both as a source of relief and dismay in equal measure. He was usually quick to diffuse tense situations with humor. They had no idea what to make of his silence. Kim reminded herself to ask his wife what the significance of it was.

* * *

A more detailed search - or the best Richwood could manage while hooked to the safety line - of the chamber revealed still more of the peculiar objects attached to the floor in the middle of the room. He moved closer, examining each one in turn. They were roughly a third of a meter high, nearly oval in shape, like a more ovoid Greek urn without the base or handles, and almost leathery in texture.

“These definitely seem to be some kind of storage containers,” Richwood reported.

Kim acknowledged quickly, “You sure?”

“Affirmative,” Richwood replied.

“They're all over the place down here. Leathery looking things that appear to still be hermetically sealed. Their arrangement shows at least some semblance of order, but a lot of wasted space.”

“Sounds like a pretty strange way to stow cargo, if you ask me,” Kim replied. “Can you tell what’s in any of them?”

“Wait one moment,” he replied as he chose one at random, reaching out a gloved hand to touch it. Nothing happened. He tried the sides, then the top, but there was nothing for his gloves to get a grip on, nor anything resembling a catch or break on its smooth surface.

“They feel funny,” he reported back to the captain, “even through my gloves.”

That definitely got Kim's attention. “I asked if you could see what was in one. Not try to open any of 'em. You have no idea what might be inside.”

Richwood took a closer look. There was neither mark nor scrape to show for his pulling and tugging.

“Whatever's in there, it’s sealed in awfully damned tight,” he muttered, “maybe I can find one that’s cracked or split a little.”

In the faint backwash of his suit lights as he turned to scan the room, a small bump appeared silently on the taut surface of the one he’d touched. Then a second, then more, until there were raised spots marring the surface of its once smooth top.

“Negative, Captain, they all appear to be the same,” he reported to Kim. “Not a seam or crack in any of them.”

He turned slowly back to the one he’d touched before. The surface had become translucent and turned clearer still as he watched, until it was transparent as glass. A distinct shape within quickly became visible.

“Christ Jesus…” he muttered, as the first tingles of real fear began to crawl up his spine.

“Tom! What’s going on down there?” Kim asked, trying not to shout.

A small creature was clearly visible inside the urn, neatly coiled and folded in on itself as if in the womb. It appeared compact - almost delicate - covered in a taught grayish-green flesh. It looked to Richwood like something plucked from an arachnophobe's worst nightmare.

The creature was roughly the shape of an eight fingered skeletal hand, it's long, bony “fingers” curled into it's compact body. The leathery skin on the “palm” was broken only by a short tube of some kind in the center and a muscular tail coiled tightly at the base near the bottom. Richwood leaned in for a closer look in spite of the panic churning in his belly, thought better of it at the last second then jumped back again.

His sense of self-preservation had kicked in far too late.

Before he could move further or raise any form of defense, the urn exploded as the creature burst out at him like a coiled spring, the _“fingers”_ opening just before it collided with his helmet, pressing the palm to his face-plate as the weaving tube in the center of the palm stroked the glass right in front of his face.

He panicked, and tried to tear the creature off, but it held fast as the Plexiglas disappeared with a puff of vapor as his breathable air escaped into the harsh alien atmosphere. He continued to pull weakly at the creature as it pressed that same tube insistently to his lips, thrusting it into his mouth when he gasped for air.

Beyond all reason, he staggered about the chamber, trying to wrench the abomination loose as the hand-shaped alien slipped through the open face-plate. It wrapped itself over the top of his skull and around the sides of his head, while the thick tail wrapped around his neck. His eyesight began graying out at the edges as the tube forced itself down his throat.

Richwood stumbled blindly, tripped, then fell over backward and blissfully lost consciousness.

* * *

“Tom… Tom, can you hear me?” Kim called out sharply. “Richwood... report!” Her pleas and commands were met with nothing but silence. This was why she'd left the service for civilian work. She'd lost a few too many people entrusted to her command and it had eaten at her. After ten years in the Colonial Marines, she had been carrying around far too many ghosts. She'd known when to get out.

“If you can’t use your communicator,” Kim tried again desperately, “give me two beeps from your tracking unit.” When there was still no response, she looked at the others. “Something doesn't feel right. I'm gonna haul him out.”

“Isn’t that a bit premature?” Olivera asked “I admit the circumstances are strange, but…”

“This thing is not subtle, it’ll yank him off his feet if he’s not expecting it," Castle interrupted.

“Try him again,” Kim ordered.

Olivera thumbed her own communicator. “Richwood? Come in, Goddamn it, answer me!” she shouted.

“Keep trying,” Kim ordered as she knelt next to the winch apparatus.

While Olivera continued to call out into her suit mic, joined alternately by Castle, Kim reached across the opening and grabbed the cable, which shifted far too easily in her hand. She tugged a little more sharply and a meter of line pulled out of the shaft without resistance.

“He still doesn’t answer,” Olivera reported, “can’t or won’t, I can't say."

“I don't care if it upsets his delicate fucking sensibilities, I'm yanking him out," Kim stated with authority as she flipped open the safety cover on the override and hit the button. “If there’s nothing wrong with him, I’ll damn straight make him wish he'd unhooked when I'm done kicking his sorry ass all the way back to the ship.”

The winch automatically reversed and began to reel in cable while Kim watched intently. She relaxed only a fraction when the line snapped taut and the motor slowed down.

“There’s weight on the end,” Olivera breathed, “that's something anyway.”

“Is it hooked on something?” Castle asked. “It's reeling in awfully slow.”

“It’s still coming up, so that's unlikely,” Kim replied.

“What if he tries to use his controls to descend again?” Castle asked.

“He can't,” Kim stated smartly, as she nodded towards the winch. “The override’s locked out his control unit. He’s coming up whether he likes it or not.”

As the drum continued reel the cable in, they trained their lights down into the abyss, searching for any sign of the man. After a few tense moments of waiting, an indistinct figure finally broke free of the shadows in the distance moving inexorably closer.

“Here he comes," Castle called out, shaking them out of their vigil.

“He’s not moving,” Olivera noted as she observed the slowly rising figure, looking for signs of any kind of movement, but Richwood was dead-weight on the cable as far as they could see. The tripod shifted slightly as the drum rolled the last few meters of cable in, then ground to a halt.

“Castle, get ready to grab him if he swings your way,” Kim ordered, all-business, her military training kicking in.

Olivera readied herself on the opposite side of the shaft from her and Castle, each of them poised at a space between the tripod legs as Richwood’s limp, unconscious body swung slowly on the end of the cable. As the largest of the three and best able to heft Richwood's hanging dead-weight, Castle reached across the gap, intending to grab the motionless executive officer by his harness.

Just as his hand closed around the strap, he noticed the gray creature wrapped around Richwood's face inside the helmet and yanked back his hand as if burned, with a girly shriek.

“What’s the matter?” asked Olivera, reaching out with her own hand for Richwood's harness.

“Watch it,” Castle warned. “There’s something inside his helmet.” Olivera yanked her own hand back with startling speed as she, too, caught sight of the creature.

“Me lleva el demonio! ” she gasped. “What the hell is that!?”

The thing seemed not to take notice of any of them, its only sign of life, a slow pulsing under its leathery sickly-pale gray skin.

“Is it alive?” Castle asked, hesitant to get near the thing again.

“It’s not moving, but I think so,” Kim replied. “Let's get him out of there.”

“You got his arms?” Olivera asked, staring at the creature on Richwood's face, her eyes as wide as saucers. Castle nodded, knowing he'd have to take most of Richwood's weight anyway.

“Okay,” she replied with a shaky voice, far too freaked out to care how squeamish she was being.

Castle moved in front of her. He was just as freaked out as Olivera, possibly more so, but his time spent consulting with the police had simply made him better at compartmentalizing than their navigator. He slipped past her to reach for Richwood again. He averted his eyes as he grabbed the harness, dragged the man's dead-weight out of the shaft and laid him flat on the deck, grateful for the planetoid's lower gravity.

“Let’s get him back to the ship,” Kim ordered.

Castle slipped his shoulder under Richwood's arm, pulled him into a seated position then rose unsteadily to his feet, hauling the incapacitated XO up with him. Kim slipped under the man's other shoulder and, between the two of them, took his weight.

“Keep an eye on that thing, Castle,” Kim admonished. “If it looks like it’s gonna make a move, drop him and get the hell clear, I don't need two casualties.”

Castle nodded under his load and Kim nodded back. “You take point, Olivera, let’s go.”

The three of them started to move out, following Olivera back through the alien ship, but Kim called a halt just short of the crack in the hull where they'd gained entrance. Both she and Castle were breathing heavily.

“Let him down, Castle,” Kim told him, and they both slid Richwood gently to the floor. “This isn't working. We could barely drag him this far on a flat surface, we'll never get him down the hill we had to climb to get here on this end - not to mention the ten kilometers back to the ship - with his feet dragging the whole way.”

“We could make a sled, Captain,” Castle suggested.

While Castle set himself to constructing the makeshift sled, effectively strapping two of the tripod's legs to the back of Richwoods harness and lashing it tight so his legs wouldn't drag, Olivera sat as far away as she could. With the light fading from the crack in the derelict's hull and the wind howling outside, she found herself unable to keep from staring at the creature affixed to Richwood's face.

She was only able to keep herself from imagining what it was doing to him by sheer force of will... that way led only to madness.

By the time Castle confirmed that the contraption hold together until they could reach the _Nostromo_ , the atmosphere outside was once more turning dark red on it's way to black. They would have to move quickly if they wanted to get within sight of the _Nostromo_ before dark...

* * *

On the bridge, Kate waited for word, or a sign from the silent exploration party. She sat in Castle's chair, absently stroking Charlie in her lap to the quiet hum of his purring, staring numbly at the main screen and the feed from the science blister, waiting for news and hoping it wasn't as bad as she feared.

Ash quietly waited in the science blister, analyzing the data sent down by Warrant Officer Beckett. She had done a remarkable job collating the data, but given her past history, that really hadn't been a surprise. He was roused from his musings when his console pinged to life with new information.

_“Ash, you have a primary communique from Weyland-Yutani command and control,”_ MIRA informed him.

“Put it on my screen please, MIRA,” he replied.

_“Retinal scan required for identification,”_ MIRA informed him, so he turned and looked into the monitor. _“Identity confirmed, Ash - ID# 111/C2/01X. Hyperdine Systems120-A/2 Priority One behavioral inhibitor override.”_

Immediately afterwards, a message scrolled onto his screen:

**_Special order 937_ **   
**_Ensure return of organism for analysis._ **   
**_All other considerations secondary._ **   
**_Crew status: expendable._ **

Ash sat immobile for twenty seconds, his expression blank, unreadable until the message disappeared from the screen, and purged itself from MIRA's memory banks like it never existed. What now sat at the console was only a thin veneer of the Ash everyone on the ship thought they knew. His priorities had shifted.

Moments later, two indicators on his panel that had been dark since the landing party disappeared into the derelict suddenly lit up again as the four transponders began broadcasting again, drawing his attention back to the business at hand.

‘Beckett?” Ash stated into the intercom. “You there, Beckett?”

“Yeah, Ash, what is it?” Kate muttered blankly, then perked up a little when she noted the intensity of his tone. “Any news?”

“I just picked up their transponders,” Ash replied, “they've emerged from the alien ship.”

Kate took a deep breath before responding, “How many?”

“All of them,” Ash reported, “four steady transponder signals. They’re heading this way at a steady pace. It looks good.”

Kate's eyes washed over the main screen, showing three figures dragging a fourth and her fingers keyed in her mic before she even knew what she was doing.

“Castle... Castle, can you hear me?” A wave of static assaulted her ears as she fine-tuned the transmission. “Castle can you hear me? Acknowledge.”

“Easy, Kate, I read you." The sound of his voice, though tired, was the most beautiful music she had ever heard. “We’re on our way back to the ship.”

“The Captain and I are fine too in case you were wondering,” Olivera cut in, sounding both frustrated and more than a little freaked out. Something was clearly wrong.

“What happened, Castle?” she muttered, her brain barely keeping up with her words as they spilled out. “We lost you on the screen, lost suit signals as well when you went inside the derelict. Have you…?”

“Richwood’s been injured." Kim managed to sound both focused and angry. “Something attacked him. He's unconscious and unresponsive.”

* * *

“There she is," Olivera pointed out as bright lights loomed up out of the near darkness outlining the hull of the _Nostromo_. They continued in that direction, dragging Richwood along behind until they nearly tripped over the ramp to the lift.

They had each taken a turn dragging him on his makeshift sled Richwood which was strapped to during the long walk back to the ship, having stopped walking only long enough to change places. They were dead on their feet as the lift rose up the landing strut until it was even with the airlock's slowly opening outer door.

They stepped into the airlock, and waited for the outer door to close and lock... only it didn't.

“What happened to Richwood?” Kate asked over the intercom again.

Kim was too tired to note that something about her voice was off.

“Some kind of organism,” she stated clearly. “We don’t know how it happened or where it came from, but it jumped him and attached itself to his face. Never saw anything like it. We’ve got to get him into the infirmary.”

“I'm sorry captain, I need more information than that,” Kate husked, though they couldn't see the agony on her face as she hovered over the airlock access panel on the bridge.

“Beckett, we didn’t see what happened. He was investigating a shaft of some kind, below us. We didn’t know anything was wrong until after we hauled him out”

There was silence from the other end of the channel.

“Look, Beckett,” Olivera shouted, “just open the Goddamn hatch!”

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that.” Kate's voice sounded dead, tears streaking down her cheeks as she fought for control and chose her words carefully. “Captain, if we let this...organism in, the entire ship could be infected. You know quarantine procedure: twenty-four hours decontamination. You’ve got more than enough suit air remaining to handle that.”

**“Open the goddamn hatch!”** Olivera shrieked, pounding on the inner airlock door and letting loose a string of curses in Spanish, her exhausted mind unwilling to accept spending another minute in an enclosed space with the creature inside Richwood's helmet, much less twenty-four hours.

“Captain, please,” Kate begged. Castle could hear the plea in her tone. “Don't make this any harder than it already is. If you were in my position, with the same responsibility, you’d do the same.” Her voice dropped to a soft whisper as she choked back a sob. “Castle, I'm so sorry.”

“Olivera,” Captain Kim whispered, acknowledging her point “she's right, the decontamination procedures are there for a reason.” But the navigator refused to be consoled.

Back in the science blister, Ash hit the emergency override, then took off at a trot. A red light came on, in the airlock, accompanied by a loud, distinctive whine. The command console on the bridge lit up.

 

**_EMERGENCY OVERRIDE ENGAGED_ **   
**_IDENT# 111/C2/01X_ **   
**_OUTER HATCH CLOSED._ **   
**_AIRLOCK PRESSURIZING_ **   
**_INNER HATCH OPEN._ **

Kate stared dumbly at her screen for a moment, not comprehending. Her instruments confirmed that Ash - who had torn her heart out enforcing the safety guidelines to keep her on the ship - had made a major reversal and overridden quarantine, placing them all at risk. She rose to her feet and stalked off the bridge.

She was going to goddamn well find out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** I know some of my readers have issues with the horror aspects of Alien, and I am trying to keep those to a minimum. But some cannot be avoided. This was one of them, thought I'd hit it all in one go and not drag it out over two chapters. Kinda like ripping off a band-aid, right?


	7. And So It Begins

**Chapter Seven**   
**And So It Begins**

* * *

_Beckett: What the hell is that?_  
 _Castle: Told you this felt like Alien._  
 _Beckett: Castle, stop! This is not Alien._  
 _Castle: Did that look human to you?_  
 _Beckett: Actually, no._  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

The heavy burden of the first officer sagging between them, Kim and Castle staggered out of the lock and into the corridor as soon as the inner hatch had swung aside enough to give them clearance. Banhov and Granger arrived at that moment and Ash rounded the corner shortly thereafter. They all wanted to help with the body, but Kim waved them back.

“Stay clear,” she warned.

She and Rick set Richwood's body down while all three of them removed their helmets. Keeping a respectful distance, Ash walked around the crumpled form of the exec until he caught sight of the thing under his helmet, obscuring Richwood's face.

“God,” Ash murmured. “Is it alive?”

Banhov studied the alien from a discreet distance. Part of him could almost admire the symmetry of it. Not that it creeped him out any less.

“I don’t know, Ash, but don’t touch it,” Olivera whispered as she extricated herself from her suit and hung it in place, as if she were forcing herself to go through the procedural motions, seeking solace and escape in the familiar and mundane. Trying to keep the horrors of what she imagined happened to the exec down in that dark cavernous room out of her mind. No one who'd known her over the last few years credited her with an abundance of imagination. For once, she really wished they were right. As necessary as it was, she was not looking forward to returning to hyper-sleep for the first time she could recall in ten years of space travel.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Ash remarked as leaned forward, trying to make out details of the creature that could be discerned through the helmet. “What do you think it's doing to him?”

“I don’t know,” Kim stated, “let's get him to the infirmary and find out.”

“Right,” Granger agreed readily. “You three okay?”

Kim nodded, not knowing she was white as a sheet, but giving no further sign she was as creeped out as everybody else. “I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks,” she commented, “but yeah. Just tired. The damn thing hasn’t moved, but keep an eye on it.”

“Will do,” Banhov said, as two engineers carefully slipped their shoulders beneath Richwood’s arms and hoisted him up, Ash moving to help as best he could.

In the infirmary, Granger and Banhov placed Richwood gently on the extended medical platform. A complex of instruments and controls unlike any aboard the ship decorated the wall behind the unconscious exec’s head. The table protruded from the wall, extending out from an ovoid opening about a meter in diameter.

MIRA's interface came on-line and activated the auto-doc while Kim walked to a drawer and removed a small cutting tool from it's place in the small selection of surgical instruments. It wasn't the first time she'd had to cut a helmet off in the field, but she'd honestly thought she'd left that part of her life behind her when she retired from active service.

Ash stood nearby, ready to help, while Olivera, Castle, Banhov and Granger watched from the corridor behind a thick window. With a flick of her finger, an intense beam of bluish light extended from the small cutter, not unlike the welding tool that Banhov had been using down in engineering to re-seal the ducts, but on a much smaller scale. Kim adjusted the beam until it was the desired length.

She turned and very carefully applied the beam to the base of his helmet. Almost at once, metal quickly began to melt and separate as she drew the cutter slowly up side of the helmet, over the top then down to the base of the helmet on the other side. When she deliberately drew the beam through the thick collar seal, the helmet separated neatly like a clam shell.

Kim shut off the beam and set it on the table before she and Ash each took a side and removed the now cleanly bisected helmet, allowing for their first clear view of the creature on Richwood's face. Other than an evenly metered pulsing, it showed no outward reaction to its exposure to their full view.

Kim reached out a shaky hand and touched the creature, then swiftly drew it back again, but it didn't so much as twitch at the touch of her fingers. She screwed on her courage and reached out again, this time resting her palm on the creature's back, which she found was cold and dry to the touch, rather like tanned leather. The creature's slow heaving made her feel slightly ill, especially when she allowed herself to imagine what the thing was doing to her exec.

She had lost all personal respect for the man after the trip to Thedus, when she found out what he had been doing on her ship and how he'd been treating other members of her crew. She had been looking forward to being rid of him at the end of this trip, but until then he was a member of her crew and her responsibility. She would not have wished this fate upon anyone.

When the creature still showed no reaction the continued presence of her hand on its back, she got the best grip she could manage on one of the “fingers” and tugged on it. She tugged and pulled harder and harder with each attempt, but with no success. The creature neither shifted nor relinquished its hold. Nor did it react to any of her attempts to either dislodge or provoke a reaction from it.

“Let me try,” Ash whispered, and Kim relinquished her hold all too readily, her revulsion clearly evident.

Ash selected a pair of thick pliers from the tool kit in a cabinet next to the auto-doc. After carefully adjusting their grip on the creature, he leaned back and pulled.

“Still nothing.” Kim suggested, “Try harder.”

Ash adjusted his grip on the pliers, pulled and threw more of his body weight into the attempt, but Kim raised her hand to stop him when a trickle of very human blood ran down Richwood’s cheek.

“Hold it,” she ordered, “you’re tearing his skin.”

“Not me,” Ash replied as he released the pliers, “it's the creature.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Kim husked after choking down the bile rising in her throat. “It’s gonna pull his face off rather than let go of him.”

“Agreed,” Ash replied, “it would seem our best course of action would be to let the auto-doc work on him. Maybe it will at least give us a better idea of what we're dealing with. Maybe it will find a weakness we can exploit.”

“From your lips to God's ear,” Kim replied, “I haven't lost anyone out in the black since I took command of this ship and I don't intend to start now if I can help it.”

Ash ran his fingers over the auto-doc's control panel, sending the platform with Richwood on it silently into the waiting receptacle and a transparent plate slid closed, sealing him inside. A soft blue glow emanated from the chamber as the sterile field engaged, rendering Richwood clearly visible behind the glass. Nearby, a pair of monitors flickered to life: one a visual representation of Richwood on the platform, the other displaying his life signs.

Ash was the closest thing they had to a doctor on the _Nostromo_ \- a fact Kim was acutely aware of - but the man seemed to be just as interested in what those readouts could tell him about the alien as he was about Richwood's condition. The thought seemed to trouble her greatly. He had been acting strangely ever since they had risen from hyper-sleep, and even more so now. Kim wanted to attribute it to the situation they'd found themselves in, but her gut kept telling her differently.

* * *

The sound of Kate's heeled boots echoed around the corner to the observation window. Olivera turned at the sound, her nostrils flaring with rage.

“You fucking bitch!” Olivera screamed as she shoved Kate violently into the far wall of the corridor with her left hand then followed with a right cross before the warrant officer could even respond or defend herself. Olivera slammed Kate back into the wall a second time and drew her fist back for another swing, but Banhov and Granger hauled her back before she could hit Kate again.

“You were going to leave us out there, you bitch!” Olivera shrieked as she pulled and struggled in the iron grip of the two engineers. “You were going to leave us out there all night with that... thing on Richwood's face!”

Rick put himself between the shocked Kate and the _Nostromo's_ hysterical navigator, gently brushing Kate's hair back from her face, careful of the red patch of skin on her jaw. Banhov, perhaps the last member of the crew anyone would have expected to come to Kate’s defense, pinned the angry navigator roughly against the wall, Granger following his lead, holding her in place.

“Maybe she should have!” Banhov shouted into her face. “Pakhshalsta! Beckett was following proper goddamn quarantine procedure and you know it!” He gestured toward the flashing interior of the auto-doc and its motionless patient. “None of us really liked Richwood - least of all you and Beckett - but he can handle himself in a fight, and he couldn’t stop that... that... thing. We have no idea what the hell it is, what damage it can do or which of us it might attack next!”

“Right,” agreed Granger, his face twisted into an intense glare of his own directed at Olivera, which finally made her flinch.

Kate’s attention remained focused on Olivera, glaring right back at her, gently shrugging Castle off to stand on her own slightly shaky feet and trying not to show how badly Olivera's attack had rattled her already fraying nerves.

“I was doing my fucking job, Olivera!” she shouted. “Nothing more, nothing less. If you think I would have left Castle, or any of you out there one minute longer than I absolutely had to, you have no idea who I am.” Kate paused a moment to catch her breath, then looked at Banhov and Granger.

“Let her go, guys. I think we're done here.”

Olivera hesitated as the two men released her from their grip, searching Kate’s face before giving a curt nod and then sliding down the wall to sit on the floor and seemed to deflate right in front of their eyes, as if her violent outburst had sucked all of the life out of her.

“What happened out there?” Kate asked, once again assuming control of the situation and her posture. She was no stranger to interrogating both hostile suspects and reluctant witnesses.

“We went into the derelict,” Olivera whispered numbly, her face turned to the window into the infirmary, her eyes focused on nothing. “There were no signs of life inside. We found a life-pod from the Prometheus that was transmitting the signal.”

“What about the derelict’s crew?” Kate asked.

“No sign of them,” Olivera said, “the place was as quiet and lifeless as a tomb.”

“And Richwood?” Kate pushed.

“Richwood volunteered to go alone into a shaft we found to a lower level,” Castle added, when Olivera didn't seem forthcoming.

The navigator's expression twisted before she once again picked up the narrative, her voice wooden. “He was joking about looking for diamonds. Instead, when he got down there, he apparently found some kind of eggs.” Olivera shivered at the memory, and paused before continuing.

“Captain told him to be careful,” she whispered, “she told him not to touch them, but it was probably already too late by then.”

Olivera drew her knees up to her chest, crossed her arms around them and shivered again, but continued numbly, “Something... happened down there... he'd stopped transmitting. When the winch pulled him out, he was... and that... thing... was... it was on his face. Melted right through the goddamn face-plate to get to him, and you know how strong that stuff is.”

“I wonder where it’s from originally?” Castle asked numbly without looking away from the infirmary interior.

Kate could tell there was something very wrong with her husband. He was subdued and quiet, almost hesitant to speak, which was clearly not like him. His posture and demeanor cried out to her for sympathy. She could tell there was something bothering him, and it wasn't just the creature stuck to Richwood's face or her attempt to deny them entry onto the ship.

Her heart ached for him. She wanted nothing more than to be able to take him aside and find out what was troubling him, hold him and not let go until he was himself again, but she had a job to do. The knowledge that he understood that was like a cold knife to her heart. Part of her wished he would just be angry, shout, do something other than just slump his shoulders and wait for her.

“As dead as this planetoid seems to be,” Kate finally replied, picking up his line of reasoning and hoping he would engage if she built theory with him, “I’d guess it came in with the alien ship.”

“Christ knows,” Banhov added softly, “I wouldn't mind knowing, myself too.”

“What the hell for?” Kate asked more harshly than she'd intended, hardly glancing at Banhov. Irritated that he'd intruded on something that was hers and Castle's.

“So I’d know to never, ever go there,” Banhov replied without even a hint of sarcasm.

“Amen,” chimed in Brett, solemnly.

* * *

“What I want to know,” Kim asked, “is how the hell is he breathing? Or is he?”

Ash studied readouts for a moment, his expression unreadable. “According to the 'doc he’s in a coma, but otherwise appears to be perfectly healthy. The high nitrogen and methane out there should have killed him within seconds of losing suit containment. Not only is he alive - despite having gone without breathable air all the way back to the ship - but his blood is thoroughly oxygenated and all of his vital signs are steady. In short, he's a damn sight healthier than he should be, under the circumstances.”

“But how?” Kim asked has she leaned over the auto-doc's readouts. “It has his airway completely blocked, he should have suffocated at the very least.”

Ash adjusted the controls on the auto-doc and examined the readouts. “Let's take a look inside and see it we can find out, shall we?”

The large imaging screen cleared, then resolved into an interior view of Richwood’s head and upper torso, showing an internal schematic of the creature covering the exec’s face.

“I’m no biologist,” Ash said softly, “but that’s the damnedest internal arrangement I’ve ever seen inside of a living organism. I don’t have any idea what half of that is supposed to do.”

“Certainly doesn’t look any better from the inside,” was Kim's only comment.

“Look at the musculature in those fingers, that tail,” Ash pointed out. “No wonder we couldn’t pull it off. I'm not surprised he couldn't get it off himself, assuming he had time to try before he succumbed.”

As they continued to examine the internal view, Kim noticed a long, flexible tube extended from the belly of the creature down Richwood's throat, the end of which terminated just inside of his trachea.

“It’s got something down his goddamn throat!” Kim whispered in disgust, her hands clenching and relaxing with murderous intent. “What the hell kind of thing does that to a person? It’s not right! Goddamn it, Ash, it’s not… clean.”

“We can't really be sure whether it's actually fighting or even harming him at this point,” Ash confessed, confused by the whole situation. “According to the medical monitors, he’s fine, merely unable to react to us. It quite obviously wants him alive for some purpose.”

Kim chuckled humorlessly. “It’s definitely fond of him, all right. It won’t let go.”

“That tube it has down his throat must be how it’s supplying oxygen to him,” Ash noted aloud, as he switched to a tighter view and increased resolution. Richwood’s lungs appeared to be working at a regular pace, seemingly without effort, despite the obstruction in his throat.

“What oxygen?” Kim asked as her temper flared. “He came all the way back to the ship after it burned through his goddamned face-plate! All his suit air would have bled out through the open regulator within the first couple of seconds!”

“There’s a very minute concentration of oxygen in the atmosphere, Captain,” Ash replied, his voice calm. “Not much, but some. This creature must possess the ability to determine what requirements its host would have and find a way to supply them in nearly any environment.”

Ash turned back to the screens. “Perhaps this creature is more flora than fauna, or even a hybrid of both.”

“This doesn’t make any sense," Kim replied.

Ash glanced at her. “What doesn’t?”

“This thing attacks and subdues him,” Kim began, pointing at the image on the screen for emphasis, “comes within a hair's breadth of killing him but then turns around and works like mad to keep him alive. What the hell is that thing getting out of this arrangement? I don't want to leave the damn thing on him long enough to find out.”

“I'm not sure trying to forcefully remove it is a good idea,” Ash cautioned.

“Why not?” Kim asked, glaring at Ash questioningly.

“For the moment,” Ash explained, “the creature is relatively benign, trying to remove it by force might produce a more defensive posture, which might end up killing him.”

“That's a chance we're gonna have to take,” Kim responded, her mind made up.

“What do you propose to do?” Ash asked. “We tried pulling it off, and we know that won't work without killing him.”

“Richwood doesn't need that thing to breathe for him anymore,” Kim replied, “so I propose we try to kill the damned thing. The sooner it's off, the sooner the auto-doc can work on him.”

Ash appeared ready to argue further, then apparently changed his mind. “I still don't think this is a good idea, but I see your point.”

“I’ll take responsibility," Kim assured him, pulling on a pair of disposable surgical gloves.

Ash disengaged the auto-doc, sliding Richwood and his unwanted passenger back out of the machine.

“The cutting beam again?” Ash asked.

“No,” Kim replied, “I'll use a manual blade.”

Ash turned back to the instrument case and returned with a sterilized package containing a surgical scalpel. He handed it to Kim.

Kim unwrapped and adjusted the blade in her hand until she had a firm, comfortable grip. The creature didn’t so much as flinch as she touched the blade to its leathery skin, then began to cut into it. A yellowish fluid began to drip from the incision, then flowed down the creature's smooth side then onto the bedding next to Richwood’s head. In the seconds it took for Kim to remove the blade and jump back, the liquid had eaten through the bedding, the metal medical platform then pooled and sizzled at her feet and began to dissolve the deck plating.

“Shit! It’s eating through the fucking deck!” Granger shouted before turning and running for the nearest companionway.

Kate yanked an emergency lamp from its holding socket and followed the engineering tech down the stairs to the B deck corridor below, Castle right on her heels and Banhov not far behind. Granger was already there staring at the ceiling below the infirmary.

“There!” Granger shouted.

The ceiling directly above began to smoke, melt and sizzle before the yellow fluid dripped from the ceiling and immediately began to eat away at the floor. Granger, Castle and Kate stared in helpless horror for a moment as every drip from the ceiling ate its way through the floor.

“What’s below us?” Kate asked.

“C corridor,” Granger replied. “No instrumentation, but it's the last deck before the hull.”

They raced for the companionway to “C” deck, fully aware that the Nostromo's hull was in danger of being breached. Granger and Banhov were more aware than most that - nearly as bad as losing atmospheric containment - critical hyper-drive circuitry ran through the outer hull, the majority of which was not serviceable outside of a major shipyard.

The four of them moved cautiously along the narrower, darker confines of C corridor. Their attention remained fixed on the ceiling.

“Don’t get under it,” Granger warned, “if it can eat through deck alloy, I don’t care to think what it could do to your pretty face, Beckett.”

Kate bit back an angry comment, and she could tell that her husband was doing the same. “Seems to have run its course,” she observed through gritted teeth, peering into the hole in the floor as the others looked on. The pitting on the deck plating smoked but didn't seem to be eating any deeper into the deck.

* * *

Back in the infirmary, Ash fished a stylus from one of his tunic pockets and probed around the periphery of the hole in the deck. The metal lining of the instrument bubbled weakly, then stopped, barely marring the finish.

“It seems to have stopped,” Banhov stated into the wall comm panel. “It’s not passing more than a centimeter deep.”

“See anything?” Kate whispered to Castle as they continued to scan the ceiling. Beneath their feet lay only a small service crawl-way, then the Nostromo’s hull.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I think that's it.”

“I think it’s reasonable to assume the fluid is no longer dangerous,”Ash commented as he knelt over the pitted metal around the hole in the infirmary floor. “Either eating through two decks must have diluted its strength.”

“What do you think that stuff is?” Kim asked. “I’ve never seen anything that could cut through deck alloy that fast.”

“I haven't either,” Ash confessed. “Certain highly refined molecular acids are tremendously powerful, but generally only effect a very narrow range of materials. This appears to be some sort of universal corrosive. It ate through hull alloy, surgical gloves, the medical pallet, infirmary bedding; all with equal ease.”

“And that tough son-of-a-bitch little monster uses it for blood,” Granger hissed. Everyone but Banhov had returned to the infirmary only moments before. He had a new, grudging respect for the hand-shaped alien, in spite of how much he was still skeeved out by the thought of it.

“It might be a component of a separate system,” Ash replied, “some sort of protective inner layer, its version of our lymph fluid.”

“Wonderful defense mechanism,” Castle observed sarcastically. “You don’t dare kill the thing, it might bleed on you.”

“Well, that pretty much rules out the possibility of removing the creature,” Ash supplied, successfully keeping the relief out of his voice, “what if we put them both in hyper-sleep?”

Kate jerked a thumb towards the infirmary. “Are you seriously suggesting we haul him all the way home with that thing clinging to his face while we all sleep?” Everyone in the room could clearly hear the sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “What could possibly be the danger in that?"

Ash was unimpressed by Kate's sarcasm. “As long as he remains stable, it's a viable alternative. At this point, removing the creature forcibly presents greater potential for injury to Richwood, not to mention potential catastrophic damage to the ship as well. If you're concerned about containment, we could put him in the hyper-sleep pod on the Narcissus and retract the airlock.”

“Any of the acid get on him?” Castle asked while Kim looked Richwood over.

“I don’t think so,” Kim replied. “He looks okay, fluid seems to have run down the outside of the creature without coming into contact with him. The wound seems to have healed over.”

“Not just that,"Ash observed, unable to keep admiration for the creature out of his tone, “there's no sign of the wound at all. This creature has remarkable regenerative abilities.”

“There's got to be some way to get it off,” Olivera whispered with a shiver, “I may have hated his guts, but it makes me sick to see it just... sitting there with that tube down his throat.”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea to try removing the creature again, Captain,” Ash advised, “it didn’t work out too well, we got lucky this time.”

Kim glared sharply at him, then relaxed.

“So what do we do now?” Olivera asked.

“For now,” Kim replied, “there's nothing we can do that won't kill him outright or compromise the hull, so we let the auto-doc monitor him.”

She touched a control and with a soft hum, the platform and Richwood slid back into the machine, the internal view of the comatose exec once again filling the screens, offering no more solutions than before.

“His bodily functions continue to read normal,” Ash stated, “with only minor indication of tissue degeneracy and breakdown. There’s no indication it's doing anything to him, but he’s gone without food and water for the better part of the day, which would account for reduction in body mass. I'll get intravenous feeding started, and monitor whether the alien’s absorbing anything from his system.”

“What’s that?” Kate asked, indicating a dark blotch on the internal scan. “This stain on his lungs right here.”

“I don’t see anything of the sort,” Ash stated while Kim looked where Kate was pointing.

“I think I see what she means.” Kim said, “Increase magnification right there between his lungs, Ash.”

The science officer complied until the small blot that had caught Kate’s eye stood out clearly, a dark, irregular, opaque patch between Richwood's lungs just behind the xyphoid process.

“I'm not sure,” Ash replied as he adjusted the controls. “I can't get a clear reading on it. It could be a scanner malfunction or a damaged scanner lens. Happens more than you think.”

“Increase magnification,” Kim demanded. “Let’s see if we can improve the resolution.”

Ash adjusted the instrumentation, but it remained unresolved.

“I can’t raise the intensity any further without causing radiation damage.” Ash explained, “The lens might just be in need of repolishing.”

“But doing that’ll leave us blind,” Kim replied.

Ash looked almost apologetic. “I can’t fix the lens without dismantling the scanner.”

“Skip it, then,” Kim said, “unless it gets to the point where it completely obscures the lens.”

“As you wish, sir,” Ash replied as he turned back to his readouts, not realizing that Kim was growing suspicious. She knew the difference between a lens abnormality and an indistinct anomalous scan result.

"What happens now?” Granger complained, sounding confused and frustrated. “We just sit and wait?”

“No,” Kim replied crisply (she had a ship to run regardless of her first officer's condition). “The rest of us sit and wait. You and Banhov return to engineering and get back to work. Fuck company directives, I want off this damn planetoid ASAP, so get down there and make it happen. Dismissed.”

Neither Banhov nor Granger had to be told twice. They were halfway out the door before she could finish her statement. Ten minutes later, they were hard at work with renewed vigor. They worked in absolute silence for the better part of an hour before either of them felt the need to fill the silence.

* * *

“What do you think?” Granger asked.

Banhov leaned in as close as he could, sweating along with Granger, working on sealing the delicate connections within the cramped confines of twelve module, trying to perform work that was never meant to be done outside of a dry-dock facility utilizing instruments that had never been designed for the purpose.

Wrong tools for the wrong job, Banhov thought angrily.

Unless twelve module was made operational they wouldn't have a fraction of the power necessary to lift off. To get away from this little nightmare world, he'd make the necessary internal replacements with his teeth if he had to.

“I think I’ve got it,” Granger said. “Give it a try.”

Banhov touched two buttons set into the overhead console and glanced hopefully at the portable monitor. He tried the buttons a second time, but the monitor remained blissfully silent.

“Nothing,” he replied, disappointment clearly registering.

“Damn. I was sure that was it,” Granger said back.

“Well, it isn’t.” Banhov explained, “Try the next one. I know they all look okay, except for number forty-three, which we’ve already replaced. That’s the trouble with these damn particle cells. If the regulator overloads and burns 'em out, you have to go inside and find the ones that have failed.”

Soft sounds of metal scratching on plastic came from inside the unit as Granger continued his search.

“It’s got to be the next one,” Banhov said, trying to sound optimistic. “At least MIRA narrowed it down this far and we don’t have to hand-check every single cell one at a time. Be thankful for small favors.”

“I’ll be thankful,’ Brett shot back, repressing a shiver, “when we’re off this rock and back in hyper-sleep.”

“You and me both,” Banhov replied as he touched the two buttons again and cursed silently. “Another blank. Try the next one.”

Twelve module contained one hundred of the tiny particle acceleration cell chambers. The thought of manually checking every one of them to find the one or two that had failed made him more than ready to break things.

“Engineering, Bridge, what’s your status?” Kate asked over the speaker.

 _Oh, hell_ , Banhov thought. _Damn that woman. I’ll tell her what my status is._ He muttered something in Russian that sounded vaguely insulting, barely loud enough to be picked up.

“What’s that?” Kate asked testily. “I didn’t catch that last part about my parentage.”

“You want to know what is happening?” Banhov replied angrily, his Muscovite accent slipping through. “work is happening. You ought to come back here and give it try sometime.”

“I’ve got the toughest job on this ship,” Kate replied, her delivery composed and businesslike in spite of the snark in her tone, “I have to listen to your bullshit.”

“Get off my back,” he snorted derisively.

“I’ll get off your back when twelve module is fixed,” Kate replied humorlessly and closed the connection before Banhov could offer further comment.

“What’s up?” Granger muttered as he leaned out of the module. “You two love-birds fighting again?”

“Smart-mouthed broad, that’s all.” Banhov retorted. “Don't know how Castle puts up with her.”

Granger let the matter drop as he examined the currently opened cell.

“Right,” he offered, “try it again.”

Banhov thought of putting his fist through the monitor, imagining it to be a certain warrant officer’s face. He wouldn’t do anything nearly so melodramatic, of course. Castle was a much bigger man than he was and he knew striking Beckett would not be a healthy thing for him to even contemplate. When Olivera had attacked Beckett earlier, he'd seen the flash of rage in Castle's eyes and the twitch of his fingers. Olivera being female had been the only thing to save her from Castle's wrath.

Mikhail Banhov might be short tempered, but he was no fool.

* * *

Ash was running a new battery of tests. They provided additional information about his condition. None particularly useful, but the science officer found it all fascinating. Richwood’s insides were immediately visible to anyone who cared to enter the infirmary and have a look at the main medical view-screen.

Kate walked in and took note of the readouts. His condition hadn’t changed since she’d last seen him. She hadn’t expected it to. She studied the smaller readouts, then took the empty seat next to Ash. He acknowledged her arrival with a slight smile and did not turn from his console.

"Making sure to keep a close eye on him," he informed her. “Just in case anything happens.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” he replied, “but if anything does, I’ll know as soon as it starts.”

“What about the creature?” Kate asked. “We know now that it can leak acid and heal itself fast. Learn anything else?”

Ash sounded pleased with himself when he replied. "Like I told you, I’ve been running scans to learn as much as we can about the creature. You never know what seemingly insignificant discovery might lead to its eventual removal.”

Kate shifted impatiently in her chair. “What have you found out?”

“It’s got an outer layer of what appears to be protein poly-saccharides. At least, that’s my best guess. Hard to tell without a piece for detailed analysis. Attempting to remove a sample might cause it to drain fluid again. We can’t risk it dissolving part of the auto-doc.”

“Not hardly,” Kate said dryly.

“What’s more interesting is that it appears to have a double skin, with that acid flowing between the two layers under high pressure. It’s a good thing Kim didn’t cut too deeply or it would have sprayed the entire infirmary.”

Kate shivered, looking properly impressed.

“The silicate layer has a dense molecular structure under the scope. It might even be capable of resisting the laser. This is the toughest chunk of organic material I’ve ever seen. The combination of cell alignment with what they’re composed of defies all the rules of standard biology.”

“Anything new besides the silicates and the double dermis?” Kate asked.

“I still have no idea what it breathes, or even if it breathes at all. It does seem to absorb whatever gases it requires through numerous surface pores. Some of its internal organs, I can barely identify and the ones I can are doing things I couldn't even begin to guess at. They may be for passive defenses we haven't encountered yet. I would rather not provoke it further to find out.”

 _Richwood shouldn’t have been brought back on board_ , Kate mused. _He and the creature should have been left outside_. She was fully aware that Ash was the one responsible for that. She watched him study the readouts, seemingly oblivious to her less than casual observation. There were only three other people in her experience who had ever displayed such cold detachment. None gave her any comfort in the comparison, the most benign of whom had been Hal Lockwood.

Suppose Ash had obeyed her directive and left the three outside? she mused to herself. Would Richwood still be alive? Or would he now be just a statistic in the log?  That would have simplified one thing, though: She wouldn’t have to face him when he recovered and found out she’d tried to refuse him and the others admittance. He'd be even more insufferable.

Ash noticed her expression.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

“Sum it all up for me,” Kate asked. “Pretend I’m as dumb as I feel sometimes. What’s it all mean? Where do we stand with it?”

“It's practically invulnerable given our present situation and resources if your results are accurate. I need to know what our chances are against it since you went ahead and let it in.”

Ash refused to be baited. He showed no sign of emotion.

“I was following a direct order from the captain. Remember?”

She forced herself to keep from raising her voice, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "With her and the XO off the ship, I’m the acting commander until one or the other actually sets foot back inside. I gave an order regarding ship safety and you disobeyed it.”

“Yes, of course. I forgot, that’s all. The emotions of the moment.”

“Like hell you did,” Kate replied harshly as his attention remained fixed to various readouts, "emotions never made you forget anything.”

“You think you know all about me," he shot back, finally raising his voice, “all of you. You’re so sure you know exactly what kind of person I am. Let me tell you something, Officer Beckett, when I opened the inner hatch I was aware I was disobeying your direct order, yes. But, I’m capable of lapses just like anyone else.”

 _Some lapse_ , she thought. Kate knew she'd have to be careful how many of her shipmates she insulted under the present circumstances. Banhov and Granger already had little love left for her, not to mention Olivera. She was on the verge of making an enemy of Ash, but she couldn’t still her suspicions. Her long dormant detective's instincts had flared. Something did not add up and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

She almost wished Ash would get mad at her. It would make this easier.

“You also managed to forget basic quarantine law,” she stated evenly, “something that’s drilled into every ship’s officer early in flight school.”

“No,” Ash replied, “I didn’t forget.”

“I see. You didn’t forget.” She paused for emphasis. “You just went ahead and intentionally broke it.”

“You think I did it lightly?” Ash asked. “That I didn’t consider the possible consequences of my actions?”

“No, Ash,” Kate stated flatly, “I thought no such thing.”

Again, he didn’t react to provocation.

"It didn’t seem like I had much choice,” he explained softly. “I know you don't like the man, but his only chance to stay alive seemed to rest with getting him into the infirmary as soon as possible. His condition has been stabilized as a result of rapid treatment, early application of antisepsis and intravenous feeding.”

“You’re contradicting yourself, Ash,” Kate shot back, in full interrogation mode now, as she angled in for the kill. “A minute ago you said it was the creature who was keeping him alive, not the auto-doc.”

“I know that now, but at the time we had no way of knowing that. _Here_ we can keep a close watch on his system and be ready to compensate if the creature shows signs of acting to harm him.”

He paused long enough to throw a switch, check a reading. “Besides, it was a direct order.”

“A direct order from someone who was not in command of this vessel at the time, I was.” Kate replied.

“The captain’s the captain.” Ash shot back, “That she was one meter outside the corridor isn’t reason enough for me to start ignoring her orders.”

She looked away, furious with him and with herself.

“By violating quarantine procedure, you risked everybody. I seem to recall somebody making that very argument not an hour before.”

Ash made a point of studying a readout on the computer board without looking up at her.

“You think that decision was easy for me to make? I’m fully aware of the regulations regarding quarantine and alien life forms, probably more so than you are, but the powers-that-be nearly always draw up their precious rules and regulations in safety and comfort, not out in the field. I had to balance those regs against a man’s life. I'd have done the same thing for anyone else on this crew, yourself included.”

His fingers danced over the console.

“I don’t dispute your personal feelings,” Kate replied, “my husband, whom I love more than my own life, was out there if you recall, and I felt them, too. You had neither the right nor the authority to impose your own feelings on the rest of us, any more than I do.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Ash replied dismissively. “He’s aboard and so is the alien. Events will proceed from that reality, not from past alternatives. Re-hashing them now is a waste of time and resources.”

“That your official position as science officer, then?” Kate asked. “Not exactly right out of the manual.”

“It is clear that you are repeating yourself in a vain attempt to provoke me, Officer Beckett,” Ash stated in a tone that told her he would brook no more argument on the matter, “to what end I have no idea. I am not a suspect in a crime and you are no longer a police detective. I have voluntarily entered my actions into the official log. It will be up to the company to decide whether my actions were justified or not. But yes, to answer your question, that is my official position on the matter. I acted on the captain's orders to save the life of a member of the crew. End of story.”

“You really think that you did the right thing, don't you?”

That caused him to turn and stare sharply at her, where more direct probes had produced no response.

“For the record, I take my responsibility as science officer as seriously as you do that of warrant officer. I’ve grown tired of this bullshit. If you have an accusation to make, lodge it with the captain. If not, then drop it. Do the job you're actually paid for and I’ll do mine.”

Kate nodded once, turned on her heel and headed for the corridor, still unsatisfied but unsure why.

Ash claimed he’d done what he’d done to save a man’s life and she wanted to believe that, she really did, but far too many coincidences and loose ends in his story nagged at her. With nothing to tie those loose ends together, she was at a loss for what to do. To her knowledge, no real crime had committed here, but her suspicions still remained. She had performed her due diligence in the matter, and with no evidence of actual wrongdoing on his part her hands were tied. There was nothing more for her to do but wait for Banhov and Granger to complete their work so she could start the pre-flight checklist to get off them all this rock.

* * *

“What do you think?” Granger asked as he glanced out from beneath the overhang. Banhov adjusted a control as he wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Almost got it,” Banhov replied. “Another half a degree and we’ll be finished. Maybe that’ll satisfy Beckett.”

“Didn’t you know?” Granger asked, making a rude noise. “Beckett can’t be satisfied.”

Banhov glanced at the silent intercom speaker and chuckled rudely.

“If we don’t get full shares after this, I’ll lodge a complaint,” he said as he checked the panel. “We’ve earned double pay. Probably qualified for hazard pay as well. This time, the Company had better make it worth our while or we’ll go to the Guild.”

“Fucking A,” snapped Brett. A hand extended outward from inside the tube where the screen was secured. “Number three sealer ought to do it.”

* * *

The rhythm was primitive, unsophisticated and the recording had lost brilliance with age and much use, but Kim lay back and absorbed the music as though he were present at the ancient recording session. One foot tapped silently, in unthinking counterpoint to the melody.

The communicator beeped three times before catching the captain’s notice. Letting out a resigned sigh, she turned off the music, then flipped the acknowledge switch for the comm panel.

“Kim here.”

“Sorry to disturb you, Captain,” Ash said over the comm, “but I think you should have a look at Richwood. Something’s happened.”


	8. Time To Go

**Chapter Eight**   
**Time to Go**

* * *

_Beckett: What are you doing?_  
 _Castle: Checking you for bites and scratches._  
 _Making sure you didn’t somehow get impregnated._  
 _Beckett: If you think that’s how I get pregnant we need to talk._  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Captain Kim rounded the corner at a near dead run and came to a stop, surprised to find the science officer standing in the corridor outside the infirmary, gazing intently through the observation window, his eyes scanning the room within, intent on something he obviously could not see.

“What’s going on?” Beckett asked as she suddenly appeared at the other end of the corridor with Castle hard on her heels. By the state of their uniforms, it was readily apparent that the two of them had been interrupted in the middle of their own form of stress relief. Kate's gaze switched rapidly from Ash to Kim and back again, both of them were not asking very loudly what had drawn her attention away from what had obviously been getting started between herself and her husband as she smoothed her tousled hair back from her face.

“I heard over an open monitor,” Kate offered without being asked.

Kim eyed her curiously, and made a face at the blush rising steadily up Kate's neck at being put on the spot, her eyes shooting daggers at Castle. “Somebody hit the intercom at the wrong time,” she muttered. “Why? You object to my being here?”

“No, I don't,” Kim replied with a slight eye-roll, “so long as you keep whatever it was you two were doing off my bridge.” She turned away from the married couple and back to the infirmary, trying very hard not to imagine where they'd been and what they'd been doing in such close proximity to an intercom panel that would account for both its “accidental” activation and the current unkempt state of their uniforms.

Captain Elise Kim was no prude by any means, but there were some things that went on aboard her ship between two consenting adults that she simply did not need to have thrust into her face. How Kate made up with her husband for attempting to keep him trapped in the airlock with a potentially dangerous alien life-form was none of her business.

“Well?” Kim asked, turning back to Ash. “What was so important that you interrupted my favorite music to bring me all the way back down here?”

“Richwood,” the science officer explained, pointing at the window. “Look closely at him.”

All three of them turned to the window to look at Richwood, taking in the fact that the alien creature he had brought back on his face was now conspicuously missing. It took a moment, but Castle finally broke the silence.

“It’s gone, ” he stated the obvious in a stage whisper.

All three sets of eyes once again scanned the infirmary with renewed intent, but could find no trace of the creature that had, the last time they'd seen him, been firmly attached to his face. Richwood lay motionless on the platform, his breathing coming at a slow, regular pace without effort, in spite of the absence of the alien. The only outward sign of his encounter were red spots where the creature had been latched onto him.

“Any sign it's planted something on him?” Kim asked, trying to keep the repulsive image out of her head.

“Not that I can determine,” Ash replied and Kim wanted to believe him, they all did.

“As best as I can determine, those are sucker marks,” Ash said, then added, “Aside from that, Richwood appears undamaged by his experience. I can't rule out emotional trauma until he regains consciousness.”

“His experience might not be over yet,” Kate interrupted. “The door is designed to seal when closed to prevent infection. It must still be in there.”

Kate tried to sound confident to cover for her revulsion. The thought of the spidery hand-shaped creature running loose on the ship frightened her more than she wanted to think about. Castle didn't seem to be doing a much better job of concealing his apprehension.

“We have to try to keep it contained.” Ash said, “The last thing we want to do is give it the run of the ship. There are simply too many places for a creature that small to hide, we'd never find it.”

“For once, we are in complete agreement,” Kate replied, scanning the infirmary floor, but finding only bright metal and paint. “We can’t get too close and we can't shoot it without breaching hull integrity, so what option does that leave open for us?”

“Maybe if we don’t threaten it too overtly,” Castle offered, “it won’t resist and we can just pick it up.”

Kate shuddered internally at the thought and elbowed Castle in the ribs. “You try picking it up,” she snarked at him, “I’ll watch the door.”

“Mr. Castle's idea does have merit,” Ash said, his eyes never moving from the window. “It’s an invaluable specimen. We should make an attempt to capture it alive and intact.”

Visions of company commendations, most certainly a bonus for the entire crew, swirled through Kim's head, before her eyes fell upon Richwood's unconscious form on the bed and in spite of her feelings of betrayal at the man's actions on her ship, right under her nose, she felt guilty. He was a complete fuck-up who had betrayed her trust and she'd lost all respect for him as a man, but until they got to Earth he was still a member of her crew. She would not abandon the principles the Corps had instilled in her, not even over a waste of skin and bone like Tom Richwood.

Ash kept his eye on the doorway as Kim slid it open cautiously, then slipped inside followed by Kate and Rick, Ash following right behind them, sealing the door. They stood in a small cluster in front of the door, scanning the room. Kim blew a sharp whistle, but that failed to flush the creature out, resulting only in making Kate jump sharply before she looked daggers into the back of her head.

Keeping his eyes open and his head on a swivel, Castle started towards an open cabinet. He yanked the door open, prepared to jump back if the creature appeared, but the open cabinet revealed only undisturbed, neatly arranged, medical supplies.

Ash was across the room inspecting the far corner of the infirmary as Kate searched under the platform holding Richwood. Her body was a coiled spring, ready to throw herself clear at the first sight of the tiny, hand-shaped invader. When she found nothing there, she considered where to search next as she crawled back out from under the table, noting this had been the closest she had been to the man since she and Castle first came aboard back on Sol Station.

Silent as the dead, something solid and unyielding slid from an overhead light fixture and landed on her shoulder as she rose to her full height. Kate's head jerked around at the unexpected touch, to find herself staring at the long, skeletal, hand-like shape of the alien that had - until recently - been attached to Richwood's face - less than eight inches from her own.

She let out a single sharp scream of _“Castle!”_ as her arm spasmed, flinging it off of her shoulder and sending the creature tumbling heavily to the deck where it lay motionless. Castle, Kim and Ash had come running at her scream and stood gazing at the motionless shape lying on the floor. She launched herself at Castle looking as if she'd climb him like a tree as she clutched his jacket. She had a wild look in her eyes like somebody - or something - had walked across her grave.

Kim had seen the expression on Kate's face more than once in her time in the Corps. She didn't know what horrors Kate had been exposed to as an NYPD detective once upon a time, but they must have been nasty. She'd seen that wild look on the faces of people like herself, who had come back from one battle too many and clearly recognized the symptoms of PTSD. It was a monster she had faced down herself once upon a time.

Kate's husband seemed to understand as well as he whispered in her ear. Kim didn't have to hear what was said to catch the cadence of the breathing exercises she herself had been taught in a colonial naval hospital once upon a time. Kim turned away out of respect - she recalled not much caring for being stared at when she'd dragged herself back from a panic attack either. She remembered how galling it had felt when her Marines suddenly started looking at her like she was a broken doll instead of the warrior she was trained to be.

She instead turned her attention back to the creature on the floor, its eight finger-like legs clenched tight to its body, like the hand of a dead man. Only the four extra fingers and the tail broke the illusion.

Kate's arms were wrapped around her chest, one hand gripped Castle's jacket, the other clutched her shoulder where the thing had landed as she gasped for air. She could still feel the alien weight on her. Still feel where it had touched her shoulder. She extended her right foot and prodded the hand-shape with the toe of her high heeled boot, but it didn't move.

“I think it’s dead,” Kim stated as she spared a concerned glance at Kate. “You okay?”

It took a moment for Kate to get her breathing back under control before she trusted herself to speak.

“Yeah. It didn’t do anything,” Kate whispered when she found her voice, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. “I... I think it was dead before it fell on me.”

Kim walked to the open cabinet, returned with a long set of metal forceps and poked the creature sharply, unsurprised by the lack of reaction, but breathed a sigh of relief in spite of herself.

Ash retrieved a stainless steel tray and indicated to Kim. Using the forceps, she maneuvered the petrified alien onto it and to a nearby exam table. The alien was carefully placed on the table where he turned a bright light on it. He chose a small probe, then pushed and prodded the unresisting form.

No one was surprised that Kate had no desire to be that close to it again, dead or not, and any fascination Castle might have had for it had been subsumed by his deep-seated need to see to Kate's well-being, to be what she needed. Kim could see it was something he saw as his primary responsibility. It was clear Kate Beckett would accept such comfort from no one else in her life.

“Look at those suckers,” Ash whispered, oblivious to Kate's discomfort, almost in awe as he used the probe to indicate the series of small, deep holes lining the inside of the creature’s _‘palm’_. “No wonder we couldn’t get it off him, with its flanges covered in these and that tail wrapped around his neck.”

“Where’s its mouth?” Kim asked, doing her best not to look too closely at the tube that had recently been down Richwood's throat, trying her best not to imagine it being forced down her own. She still had nightmares after a flash decompression event on maneuvers, waking up in a panic secured to a bed with a ventilator tube down her throat.

“The closest I can find must be this tube-like organ, up in here,” Ash replied, pointing out that very same protuberance, “though it never showed any sign of feeding on him.”

Ash used the probe to flip it over onto its back. Using the forceps, he gently pulled it partway out where he could see it. As it slid into view, the tube changed color to match the pallor of the rest of its body.

“It’s hardening as soon as it contacts the air,” Ash whispered as he moved the tiny form over to a scanner, slipped it underneath the lens and adjusted controls. “It’s definitely dead,” he informed them, “no life signs that I can detect whatsoever.”

“Good,” Kate whispered, still brushing her left hand over her right shoulder, her arms crossed over her chest. “Let’s get rid of it.”

Ash looked at her in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding.”

Kate shook her head. “Like hell I am.”

“But… this... it has to go back,” Ash replied, sounding almost excited. “This is the first contact with a creature like this. A full battery of tests should be run on it.”

“Fine,” she said, revulsion completely evident in her expression, “run your tests, and then we’ll get rid of it.”

“No,” Ash explained, “a complete study of this creature requires the facilities of a properly equipped biology lab. I can only record the slightest details of construction and composition here to even begin to guess at such critical things as its evolutionary history. We can’t dump one of the greatest xenological discoveries of the past decade out the lock like a piece of common garbage! I protest, both personally and in my capacity as science officer.”

“That thing bled acid that nearly bored a hole right through the ship.” Kate nodded towards it. “God knows what danger it might still pose now that it’s dead.”

Ash turned an imploring gaze on Kim. “It has neither moved nor resisted in any way and the scanner insists it’s dead. As science officer, my official stance is that it be placed in stasis and turned over to the science division when we get home.”

When Kim didn’t say anything right away, Ash continued. “Captain, at the very least, provided we can’t pull Mr. Richwood out of his coma, the medics in port might need to have access to the creature that did this to him.”

“You’re the science officer,” Kim replied finally, her voice devoid of enthusiasm. “Scientific matters are your department, so it's your decision.”

“Then consider the decision made,” Ash stated with finality.

“That takes care of the monster’s future, I guess," Kim stated as she gestured at the medical platform. “What about Richwood's condition?”

After a brief examination of the exec, Ash activated several instruments on the medical console. Then a readout appeared on the screen.

“He’s running a fever,” Ash stated, “other than that, all other readings appear normal.”

“How bad is it?” Kim asked.

“No worse than the one you'd get with a stomach bug, his system can handle it," Ash replied. “The auto-doc will get that under control without much difficulty. He’s still unconscious, but his vitals are stable.”

“We can see that," Kate interjected icily.

Ash glanced-back at Kate. “He could be merely sleeping off the fever.”

Kate opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by a glare from Kim which she leveled on both of them.

“Stop your bickering,” she stated loudly, asserting her authority, “ both of you. We have enough problems at the moment and I don't need to have the two of you squabbling like little kids.”

With all of the pressure they’d been under recently, Kim knew that such conflicts were to be expected, but she’d tolerate only so much and the line had been crossed. Open antagonism was something to be avoided at all costs. She was already going to have to file an incident report about the altercation between Beckett and Olivera in the hallway as it was. A disciplinary notation would have to appear in the navigator's file for assaulting a ship's officer.

To clear the air, she turned the conversation back to Richwood.

“Unresponsive and a slight fever,” she stated. “Anything else?”

Ash studied readouts. “Negative,” he replied. “His vital signs seem strong otherwise.”

“Long-term prognosis?” she requested.

“I’m not a medic.” He stated, “The Nostromo isn’t big enough to rate one.’

“I know that,” Kim replied. “But you’re the closest thing we’ve got. I just want your opinion. I certainly won’t hold you to it.”

“I don’t want to appear unduly optimistic,” Ash said slowly, “but based on his present condition and on what the auto-doc tells me, he'll live.”

Kim nodded slowly. “Good enough for me.”

Ash shrugged. “I wish I could do more for him, but as I said, I’m not trained for it. It’s up to the auto-doc. I’m getting some mighty peculiar readings, but all we can do is wait until it figures out what the alien did to him and then treat it. No machine is perfect. It’s not designed to cope with anything this… well, this alien. I just wish I knew more medicine so we wouldn't be so dependent upon it.”

Kate actually looked surprised. “This is the first time I’ve ever heard you express feelings of inadequacy,” she muttered.

“When the universe confronts you with something utterly beyond your experience, you always feel inadequate.” He looked back down at Richwood. “I don’t have the knowledge to cope properly with this situation and I feel helpless in the face of that.”

Handling the forceps carefully, Ash lifted the alien by two of its flanges, sliding it into a transparent stasis tube filled with much the same fluid as that used in the hyper-sleep chambers and sealed it closed. A yellow glow filled the tube at the flick of a switch. Kate, who had still not fully recovered from the last vestiges of her minor panic attack, half expected the creature to leap to life, melt its way out of the stasis tube and come clutching for them all. She would not be looking forward to their inevitable return to the freezers, and would definitely be scheduling a few sessions with Dr. Burke when she got home - both for herself and for Castle.

Finally convinced that it posed no more of a threat, except in her nightmares, she allowed Castle to turn her away from the stasis tube and guide her toward the infirmary exit.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Castle offered, “but I think we could all do with some coffee.”

Kate perked up at that thought, her husband always made the best coffee. One of the few items in his weight allotment aboard ship was a miniature version of the coffee machine he had gifted the precinct when he'd worked there. He'd tried the coffee during simulation training and proclaimed that it had tasted worse than if a monkey peed in battery acid and he would be damned if he was going to live off the stuff on the other side of the galaxy. It was fine for a quick jolt of caffeine or whatever stims were added to it, but he didn't like how jittery the stuff made him if he drank more than one.

To be honest, the device reminded Kate of the ancient Keurig machine her mother had kept at the family cabin, but it was the closest they were ever going to get out here to the espresso machine at the precinct.

Castle had packed the grounds into the reusable cups himself more than enough for this trip for the entire crew to drink for three weeks. He didn't trust what the company folks might have put in the ones that came with the machine built into the galley. They had extra due to the fact that Ash never drank coffee, something no one had foreseen, but that meant there was plenty left for a sit-down in the galley.

“Good thought,” Kim replied as she glanced at Ash. “You okay in here by yourself?”

“You mean, alone with that?” Ash jerked a thumb in the direction of the sealed container and grinned. “I’m a scientist, Captain, an important find like this makes me curious, not afraid. I'll be fine. If Richwood's condition changes, I'll let you know.”

“Fair enough,” Kim replied, then turned to Kate. “Let’s go see if that coffee machine your husband brought is as good as he says it is.” The infirmary door slid tightly shut behind them and they started back toward the companionway to “A” deck, leaving Richwood in the hands of Ash and the auto-doc.

* * *

It took a few minutes, as they had to reconstitute the creamer with a little extra vanilla since the dehydration process took some of the life out of the cream. It was academic anyway, because the weight allotment would not allow for a foaming wand to make a proper latte.

Kim observed the easy camaraderie of the married couple as they worked together in the galley. Kate reconstituting the vanilla flavored creamer as he prepared the coffee before lovingly pouring the blend into the blue ceramic mug that seemed to appear from out of nowhere. The way Kate looked at him, like he had hung the stars himself, when she took her first sip.

All around them, the Nostromo functioned smoothly, uninterested in the deceased alien under stasis in the infirmary. But for the two of them across the table from her sitting side by side leaning into each other, it was like everything else ceased to exist.

Kim had to admit, when she sipped from her own cup, that Castle could certainly make a damn good cup of coffee. If they crewed with her for long, she was afraid they would spoil her for the company swill. Even the instant coffee they'd had from their MRE's in the Corps tasted better than that crap.

When Kate finally looked up at her, Kim could see she still looked troubled about something.

“What’s eating you, Beckett?” she asked. “Still simmering over Ash’s decision to open the lock and let us in?”

Castle snapped a glare at her for bringing it back up, his intense, blue eyes burning through her like ice on fire. It was clear that he had spent more than a little time trying to reassure her that she had made the right call in her enforcement of quarantine. He seemed more understanding than most would have been in his position, including herself, if her reaction at the time had been any indication, and she was well aware of the regs.

Kate's voice was tight with frustration. “How could you leave that kind of decision to him?”

“I told you,” she explained patiently. “Ordering Ash to open the lock was my call, not… oh, you mean about keeping the corpse of the alien?”

Kate nodded, though her eyes seemed to hollow out at the reminder which earned Kim another hard glare from her husband. “Yeah. I guess it probably is either too late or too soon to revisit the situation at the lock.”

Kim's voice softened for a moment before she continued “I might’ve been wrong on that. I don't like keeping that thing on board after what it’s done to one of my crew any more than you do, dead or not.” Kim paused again, and shivered in spite of herself. “We don’t know for sure it’s actually done anything to him except knock him out. The auto-doc can't find anything else wrong with him.”

“You’re the captain,” Kate replied, not comforted in the least.

“A title of last resort, but my authority in the black isn't absolute like it was in the Corps. I'm mostly just an administrator. I operate the ship, oversee the personnel and enforce company directives. Banhov can overrule me in any matter that concerns the ship's engines and when it comes down to matters concerning science division, Ash has the final word.”

“And how does that happen?” Castle asked, more curious than bitter.

“Same way that everything else happens,” Kim replied. “Orders from the company several steps above your pay grade or mine, read your own human resources directory.”

“Since when is it standard procedure?” Kate asked, her interrogation face back on.

“Come on, Beckett,” Kim replied, tiring of the topic. “This isn’t a military vessel. You know as well as I do that standard procedure is whatever the company says it is. Including the independent jurisdictions of each department, like science. I'm not sure I would have signed on if that weren't the case.”

“What’s the matter?” Kate rasped, “Visions of discovery bonuses fading with the specter of a dead man?”

“You should damn well know better than that,” Kim replied sharply, raising her voice, her own eyes ablaze, making both of them shrink back a little. “There isn’t a goddamned bonus big enough to trade for any member of my crew, not even Richwood. If I wanted to be a real explorer gallivanting after discovery bonuses, I would’ve signed on to captain a science vessel like the Prometheus. With my record, I had my pick when the company recruited me.”

Kim breathed in and out, her voice going quiet as she continued, “All I wanted after I mustered out was a quiet gig hauling cargo for a living, where my only responsibility was to get in under budget and bring my crew home safe. I have enough ghosts to carry around with me as it is.”

Kate didn’t reply right away, choosing instead to sit in silence for several minutes. When she spoke again, the bitterness in her voice was gone. “You and Richwood crew together on many flights?”

“Enough that I knew him, or thought I did," Kim replied, her voice level, eyes focused into her cup on the table. “He wasn't like that when I first met him. People who lack a certain internal discipline get funny when they spend too much time in hyper-sleep out in the black, trapped in that pod with only their own id for company. He was a good man once, or at least I thought he was. I respected him. I wish I could get that man back.”

Kate didn't know how to reply to that. She had been to far too many crime scenes involving domestic violence where either the abused or the abuser lay dead at her feet to believe one way or the other. Heard one too many abuse victims cry as they said the same thing for their abuser, _“he wasn't always like that.”_

“What about Ash?” she asked.

“You back on that again?” Kim sighed. “What about him?”

“Same thing," Kate replied, keeping her own voice even. She had switched from suspect interrogation mode to background gathering, “You knew Richwood for a long time. How well do you really know Ash? Have you ever shipped with him before?”

“No, I haven't,” Kim replied, a thought that didn’t seem to bother her in the least. “I went five hauls, long and short, various cargoes, with the same science officer. Two days before we left Thedus, they replaced him with Ash, you should know, you were there.”

Kate stared at her significantly. Kim was unimpressed.

“So what?” Kim continued, making her point, “Right before the Nostromo was scheduled to depart Earth they replaced my old warrant and comm officer with you two. Should I treat you the same way?”

“I just have a gut feeling, an instinct that kept me alive as a cop. Something about him bothers me,” Kate replied. “I just don’t trust him.”

“That's a sound attitude, Beckett. I don’t trust anyone blindly either, they have to earn it. Once upon a time Richwood had. Enough that it blinded me to what he'd been doing.”

Kim paused for a moment before making her point.

“From his record, and what I've seen of him so far, Ash is a good officer, aside from a few personality defects. As long as he does his job, doesn't adversely effect ship efficiency or hurt anyone, I don't give a damn about his personality defects. So far I've seen no reason to question Ash’s competency.”

Kim figured it was long past time to change the subject. “How are the engine repairs coming along?” she asked point blank. Kate glanced at her father's watch and did some quick figuring.

“According to Banhov's last progress report, they were locking down the last burned out component of number twelve module. They ought to be nearly finished by now,” she replied. “Shouldn’t be much more left to do but fine-tuning.”

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Kim replied, impatiently.

“Figured they still had some things left to do, or they would’ve reported they were ready. You think I’m stalling for _Banhov_ , of all people?”

“I didn't think so, he wants off this rock as much as we all do. What’s left to do?”

Kate slid her small tablet out of it's belt pouch to check her facts before replying.

“We’re still blind on B and C decks. Between the electrical fire when we landed and the bulkhead damage from Richwood's little friend there, scanners are burned out and need to be completely replaced. Reserve power to the sub-light drive is still out.”

“Primary power to the sub-light drive's back online though?” Kim asked, eliciting a nod from Kate. “We can take off without it, collect our cargo, get the hell out of here and jump back to FTL. They can fix the goddamned B and C deck sensors and bulkheads in dry-dock when we get back.”

“Is that a good idea? Taking off without reserve power?”

“Not, according to the manual,” Kim replied, “but I want out off this rock, and I want off now. We’ve done as much investigating as company policy and interstellar law require and there’s nobody left to rescue except Richwood. They can send a properly equipped company expedition to go digging around that derelict now for all I care. I might even let them talk me into commanding it, if only to make sure any remains from the Prometheus are properly recovered. We’ve complied fully with company directives. Let's get the hell out of here.”

“Castle, I'm gonna need you at Richwood's station for takeoff, both of you finish your coffee then report to the bridge and begin pre-flight checks.”

Kim stood up and walked over to the comm panel by the door and hit the button for the ship-wide comm.

“This is the captain, all hands report to departure stations, pre-flight and dust-off in twenty minutes,” she ordered tersely, the command in her tone offering no room for argument or appeal. “It's time to kick the tires and light the fires, we're getting the fuck off this rock and back into the black.”


	9. Take Me Out Into The Black

**Chapter Nine**   
**Take Me Out Into The Black**

* * *

_Castle: Space, the final frontier.These are the voyages of Castle and Beckett._  
 _Their ongoing mission: to explore strange new motives,_  
 _to seek out new witnesses and new suspects for murder,_  
 _to boldly go – oh, right over here._  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

The crew of the Nostromo settled back into their roles on the bridge. With the exception of Castle, everyone assumed their standard duty stations. Castle slipped his comm headset on, secured his station and settled into the seat at the executive officer's console.

All thoughts of the dead alien in the infirmary and the comatose Richwood were put on hold as the crew began their pre-flight checks, their minds filled only with their assigned duties and take-off procedure. Personal animosities and opinions were set aside, the crew united in their desire to get off the ground and back into clean, open space again. They just wanted to go home.

“Power up the sub-light drive,” Kim ordered as she took her seat.

“Primary sub-light drive ignition sequence activated,” Ash reported from his station. “Port and starboard thrust quads online and powering up for liftoff.”

“Check,” Kate reported.

“Secondary drive systems still not functioning, sir,” Castle reported from Richwood's station, frowning at the crimson readout on the console.

“Acknowledged,” Kim replied as she turned her attention to Olivera. “Departure course.”

Olivera studied the readouts on her board and made a few minor corrections. “Orbital insertion course to intercept refinery plotted and locked. Will correct as we bear.”

“Affirmative,” Kim replied crisply. “Stand by for lift-off.”

Nostromo began to vibrate as her primary drive engines surged to life. The roar of her thrust quads rose in pitch over the howl of the storm, vibrating the ground, sending dust flying everywhere as their downward force powered up to full. The whole ship seemed to be coiling herself to spring from her landing site as if the Nostromo matched her crew's desire to be away from this place.

“Helm standing by,” Kate reported and Kim glanced across at Ash.

“Engines firing at full power,” Castle reported, “flight systems nominal.”

“Just hold together long enough to get us up,” Kim whispered, patting the arm of the center seat before she tapped on the intercom.

“Engineering, bridge, Status report,” she ordered crisply. “Can we make orbit without engaging FTL?”

Kim knew that without the secondaries, if the sub-light engines blew there would be no alternative but to engage the stellar drive to break free of LV-426's gravity well. Even a micro-jump in FTL would throw them clear out of the system and they would have to spend precious time backtracking to retrieve their cargo, wasted time that translated into wasted air.

Every minute, they were out of hyper-sleep equaled liters of expended oxygen from their limited supply. The Nostromo's CO2 scrubbers could only recycle breathable air for nine living beings for a finite period of time, after which they’d have to go back into the freezers whether they could retrieve the refinery or not.

Kim didn't even want to imagine how long it would take to pay for the gigantic floating factory on their various modest salaries. Even if Mr. Castle added his own considerable fortune to the tab, which she doubted the company would be able to touch. It was not an encouraging thought.

“Bear in mind, Captain, that this is just a patch job,” Banhov replied, barely keeping his Muscovite accent from his voice, which only snuck in when he was nervous or excited. “Need shipyard equipment to make proper repairs.”

“Will she hold together?” Kate asked, not sure if she wanted the answer.

“Ought to," Banhov confirmed, "so long as we don't hit too much turbulence, but if we blow the new cells in twelve module, that's all she wrote. We don't have the replacement parts to fix them again.”

“So tell Beckett to steer clear of the chop,” Granger added from his own station in engineering.

“Acknowledged,” Kim replied. “Until we hit the black, you keep those damn engines running... with your bare hands if you have to. The damn cells can go like popcorn for all I care once we clear atmo. As long as we have the navigational thrusters to grab the cargo, we can go hyper all the way to Sol.”

“The old girl will get us off this rock if I have to get out and push,” Banhov shot back.

“Hopefully that won't be necessary, Banhov,” Kim replied. “Bridge out.”

Kim turned to face Kate, fixing the warrant officer with her gaze.

“Take us up one hundred meters and retract the landing struts," she commanded, returning her thoughts to the task at hand. “Steady as she goes.”

“Up one hundred, aye,” Kate replied as her fingers danced over the controls.

Outside, the thunder intensified in pitch as the tug lifted gracefully from the dust-blasted surface of the planetoid. The ship hovered a hundred meters above ground, dust swirling under the assault from her thrust quads as the massive landing struts folded neatly into their housings in the Nostromo's metal belly.

A slight thump sounded on the bridge, confirming what the readout on Castle's console told him.

“Struts retracted and locked,” Castle reported. “Closing ventral shields.”

The alloy plates closed over the landing gear housings, restoring the ventral hull's seamless unblemished lines.

“Okay, Beckett,” Kim stated. “Put us on the roof.”

Kate's hands once again danced over the haptic display of her console. The engine's pitch increased to a deafening roar outside as the Nostromo's nose pitched up and began to power herself skyward, seeking the deep black where she truly belonged.

“Helm answering,” Kate reported as her slender fingers continued their graceful dance over the controls. “Pitching up fifteen degrees increasing power to full.”

“One kilometer and ascending,” Olivera reported. “Ascent angle on plot and steady. Orbital insertion in five point three two minutes.”

“Looking good,” Kim replied, watching the ascent angle from her seat with more than casual interest. “Engage artificial gravity.”

Ash made a series of adjustments on his console and the ship seemed to stumble. Everyone’s stomachs protested as the fading gravity of LV-426 was replaced by the full, unforgiving pull of one g.

"Artificial gravity engaged,” Ash reported.

 _“Warning: Starboard thrust quad number two nearing maximum recommended thermal threshold,”_ MIRA reported in a calm tone that did not ease anyone's mind.

Then a moment later:

 _“Warning: Starboard thrust quad number two exceeding maximum recommended thermal threshold. Quad failure imminent,”_ Mira's calm tone announced.

Kate's gaze shifted from one readout to another as the thrust discrepancy registered on her console and the deck plates began to vibrate wildly under their feet.

“Unequal thrust reading,” Kate announced, “altering thrust vector. Transferring power to compensate.” She watched nervously as the readouts crept back to where they belonged.

“Ascent stabilizing, approaching escape velocity,” Castle reported.

Kim was nearly convinced that they’d make orbit without further complication when a violent tremor ran through the bridge, sending personal possessions flying and the crew gripping their seats to steady themselves. Charlie hissed as he was flung from his hiding place under Kate's seat and barely managed to land on his feet. He disappeared from the bridge in a blur of orange fur to seek a safer place to hide.

The tremor lasted for only another instant and stopped.

“What the hell was that?” Kim shouted over the din into the comm to engineering.

“Starboard quad number two flamed out,” Banhov shouted over the klaxons in engineering.

“Can you fix it?” Kim asked.

“Negative,” Banhov replied “I've hit the emergency foam bottle. I’m shutting it down before it tears the ship apart in this chop.”

The ship began to vibrate violently again as the power indicators for starboard quad number two dropped sharply to zero.

“Compensating again for unequal thrust,” Kate announced solemnly.

“Just hold her together until we’re beyond double zero,” Kim stated into the pickup.

“What do you think we’re doing back here, holding a knitting circle?” Banhov shouted before the intercom clicked off sharply.

The tenor of the whole bridge changed. No one looked up from their stations as they worked to keep the ship functioning. Though she was ascending a little more slowly than before, the Nostromo continued to claw her way space-ward on course to intercept the orbiting refinery.

* * *

In contrast to the comparative calm on the bridge, the engine room was a bedlam of frenzied activity. Granger had wormed his way back into the maintenance shaft with his breather mask on to assess the damage.

“Fucking dust is clogging the goddamn intakes again,” Granger cursed into his throat mic. “Port quad number one’s beginning to overheat now.”

“I thought we shut that shit out,” Banhov roared.

“So did I,” Granger replied. “Must’ve thrown another screen.”

“Thrust quads weren’t designed for this shit,” Banhov stated. “Spit on it for two more minutes and we’ll be clear. Piss on it if you have to.”

* * *

 _“Warning: port thrust quad number one reaching maximum designed thermal threshold,”_ MIRA reported.

“If we lose another quad,” Castle said, “we won't have enough vectored thrust to reach escape velocity.”

A second tremor rattled the bridge. Everyone’s attention became glued to their respective consoles.

“Mr. Castle, stand ready to engage emergency star drive micro-jump on my mark,” Kim ordered, knowing it was their last resort to break orbit.

 _Come on, baby come on_ , Kim urged silently as Castle flipped open the the cover on the emergency override, and Ash began the calculations for the micro-jump, _get us up_.

Kim promised herself that if Banhov and Granger could keep the three remaining quads functioning for just another couple of minutes, she’d put them both in, not just for the bonuses they were constantly harping about, but she'd even give them part of hers.

“Orbital insertion in one minute,” Olivera stated through gritted teeth.

 _“Warning: Port thrust quad number one exceeding maximum designed thermal threshold. Quad failure imminent,”_ MIRA calmly reported, like an Oracle of Delphi proclaiming their doom.

 _Another minute_ , Kim pleaded silently to the Nostromo, her right hand unconsciously caressing the arm of her chair. _Just one more minute, baby._

Erupting from the dust-filled clouds of the hellhole that was LV-426, the Nostromo burst into open space and the surface-gravity indicator on Ash’s console fell to zero.

“Orbital insertion in three... two... one... mark,” Olivera reported, relief evident in her voice.

 _“Port thrust quad number one temperature returning to recommended thermal threshold,”_ MIRA reported. _“Starboard thrust quad number two will not pass inspection. Full overhaul of primary and secondary sub-light drive system recommended before next planet-fall.”_

“Equatorial orbit confirmed, Captain,” Castle reported with a relieved sigh as he flipped the override cover closed without asking for permission.

“We made it,” Kate husked, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding as she leaned back against the padding of her flight seat and looked over at her husband in the unfamiliar seat, her wide smile sending the appropriate shivers down Castle's spine. “We Goddamn made it.”

“When that last tremor hit and we went into velocity slide, I almost didn’t think we were going to,” Kim husked. “I saw us splattering ourselves all over the landscape. Might as well have if we’d gone hyper and lost the refinery.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Olivera cut in, smiling in spite of herself. “We simply would have landed again, kicked in our distress beacon and relaxed in hyper-sleep while some other lucky crew got kicked out of the freezers to come rescue us.”

Kim figured the engineering team was entitled to some sort of verbal commendation when she hit the ’comm. Don’t mention anything about bonuses to the Trouble Twins yet, Kim told herself. Surprise them with it when we wake up and reach Earth orbit.

“Nicely done, you two,” she said happily into the mic. “How’s the old girl holding?”

“Now that we’re out of that fucking dust,” Banhov replied, “she’s purring like that damned cat of yours.”

A sharp pop and crackling noise sounded over the speaker. Kim frowned for a moment, unable to place the sound. Then she realized Banhov had opened a beer within range of the pickup.

“A walk in the park,” the engineer boasted pridefully, followed by a gurgling sound filling the speaker. “When we fix something, it stays fixed.”

“Good work, both of you,” Kim assured him. “Take a break, you’ve earned it. But Banhov?”

“Yes Captain?” Banhov replied, both confused and amused.

“When we raise Antarctica and you coordinate with engineering control,” Kim rebuked sweetly, with just the right amount of snark in her tone, “keep your beer away from the mic.”

The gurgling noise receded before Banhov responded. “Of course, Captain. When we get home, I'll be breaking out the Stolichnaya, anyway.”

Satisfied and amused, Kim cut the link to engineering

“It’s time to pick up the money and go home.” Kim ordered, returning to business. “Put her in the garage, Beckett.”

In response to Kate's nimble fingers on her console, the Nostromo’s course flattened out, followed by several minutes' wait before a steady beeping sounded on Olivera's console.

“Here she comes,” Olivera informed them. “Right where she’s supposed to be.”

“Acknowledged,” Kim stated. “Intercept course. Line us up and stand ready to dock.”

The bridge thrummed with activity as Olivera and Beckett coordinated their efforts to intercept the refinery.

“Intercept course on plot,” Olivera stated.

“Reducing relative speed,” Beckett stated crisply. “Lining us up.” Her nimble fingers danced on her console, locking the Nostromo into position ahead of the dull mass of the steadily approaching refinery.

“Bring us in,” Kim ordered as she watched the readouts intently, Castle's fingers poised over a rank of red buttons.

“Relative speed for intercept set,” Beckett answered, her attention focused on two screens at once.

“Refinery approaching astern, alignment locked,” Olivera reported. “Twenty meters to intercept… fifteen… ten... five... set.”

The ship shook lightly as the Nostromo made contact with the refinery.

"We have soft seal," Castle reported.

Beckett adjusted her controls as Castle pressed the red buttons on Richwood's console in sequence.

“Relative speed zero,” Kate announced. “Primaries compensated for.”

“Inertial stability achieved,” Castle stated from Richwood's console. “We have positive lock.”

“Engage hyper-drive lock,” Kim ordered. Castle hit the appropriate controls.

“Hyper-drive lock engaged,” Castle informed him. “We have full hard seal, all indicators show green.”

With the hyper-drive lock engaged, the Nostromo would generate a warp field of sufficient size to include the refinery once the star drive was activated, enveloping both ship and refinery in the static bubble that enabled modern spacecraft to ignore Einstein and travel faster than the speed of light.

“Break orbit and set course for Earth,” Kim ordered crisply, unable to keep the smile from her face and the joy from her tone. “Fire up the stellar drive and take us to light plus four, Beckett.”

“With pleasure,” Kate replied.

“Stellar drive spinning up for jump to FTL" Castle reported.

“Course computed and locked in,” Olivera reported a moment later.

"Stellar drive engaged," Beckett stated. "FTL in three... two... one... mark!”

A corona effect materialized around the ship and refinery as the Nostromo - having first achieved, then exceeded the speed of light - sprang from normal space into FTL flight mode. Stars ahead of the ship blue shifted, then red shifted as they fell behind. LV-426 – with the wreckage of the Prometheus and its mysterious dead alien ship - vanished behind them as though it had never existed while the Nostromo and her crew raced for home at speeds that defied Einstein's theory of relativity.

Seven people, one cat and something else named Tom Richwood were on their way home.

* * *

Castle had once again played barista as the crew sat around the mess table and sipped either coffee, tea or other warm liquid stimulants according to taste and habit. Their relaxed postures reflected their current state of mind, legs and arms sprawled unconcernedly over chair arms, or slumped against cushions. Kate's impressively long legs were draped over the lap of her husband as they shared one of the bench seats near the wall, the heels of her boots hanging over the side.

Olivera had yet to return from the bridge, busily making final course calculations. Ash had returned to the infirmary, ostensibly to keep watch over Richwood - though his antisocial nature was, at this point, no surprise to the rest of the crew.

The executive officer's condition had become the primary topic of conversation in Ash's absence, however. The captain had made her position clear on the matter as to any discussion of Ash himself.

"The best thing to do is just freeze him," Banhov stated after downing another mouthful of the black tea he favored. "Arrest whatever the goddamn alien did to him right there."

"We don’t know that freezing him will alter his condition in any way," Kim argued. "It might make things worse. Contact with Earth-side diseases might intensify whatever this is, maybe even turn it into some sort of contagion."

"It’s a damn sight better than doing nothing," Banhov replied, waving his cup like a baton. “The auto-doc’s certainly done nothing for him so far. The medical computer’s set up to handle things like zero-gee sickness and broken bones, not something like this, just like Ash said. Richwood needs specialized help that only a sol-side medical facility can give him.”

"That much is not up for debate," Kim replied.

"Right," Granger echoed.

"Exactly!" Banhov exclaimed. "So, I say freeze him and let a doc specializing in xenobiology work on him."

“Right,” added Granger again.

Castle shook his head. "Whenever he says anything, you just say “right”. You know that, Granger?"

Granger grinned. "Right."

Kate turned to face the engineer. "What do you think about that, Banhov? Your subordinate just follows you around and says “right”, like some human-sized parrot."

Banhov turned to his colleague with a grin. "Yeah. Shape up, man.”

"Right," Granger replied, falling in with the gag like everyone but the captain, it would seem.

"Knock it off," Kim snapped at them all, seeming to drop the temperature in the room five degrees with her icy tone and immediately felt sorry for it.

She knew from experience that a few moments of levity between shipmates was good for morale under these circumstances and didn't understand what had possessed her to step on their friendly banter this time. Granger was an easygoing guy and she was well aware he was not offended by the joke at his expense. In fact, she was quite sure he did it on purpose to elicit this very reaction from his coworkers.

Since taking over as Captain of the Nostromo ten years ago, she had done her best to keep the relationship between herself and her crew more relaxed and informal than a military-style chain of command and tried to lead by example rather than direct command whenever possible. She had no idea why she all of a sudden felt compelled to go all Marine Corps on them.

The situation which company directives had thrust them into meant someone had to officially be ‘in charge’ and she supposed that she was the one stuck with the responsibility. At this point, she’d much rather have Castle or Banhov's job.

Especially Banhov's she thought absentmindedly to herself. He and Granger can sit back in their comfy chairs in engineering, drink their beer and collect their pay, so long as they keep the engines and ship’s systems functioning. They have no idea how easy they've really got it, answerable to no one save each other and the Nostromo.

Captain Elise Kim didn't want to be put in the position of making life-altering, world-changing decisions for other people anymore. It's why she had accepted the honorable discharge the Colonial Marines had offered her and why she'd chosen to captain a transport tug instead of an exploration or rescue vessel.

In her heart she was still a Marine, and always would be (you could take the Marine out of the Corps, but nothing could take the Corps out of the Marine, Semper Fi _Oooo Rah_!). She'd simply attended one too many full honors funerals, sent one too many letters home extolling the virtues of good, honorable people being sent home for the last time in flag-draped, shiny, metal boxes. She would carry the faces and names of every Marine lost under her command with her to the grave as if tattooed on her soul like the Eagle, Globe and Anchor were on her right shoulder.

In the end, she had accepted the honorable discharge offered to her because she was unsure she could make those sort of command decisions anymore. She had been self-aware enough at the time to know such uncertainty would have made her a danger to anyone serving under her command in combat.

As a long haul tug captain she could spend most of her ship-time in hyper-sleep, dreaming and collecting her salary. She didn’t have to make life-or-death decisions in hyper-sleep, though she felt safe in the knowledge that if the shit did hit the fan, her Marine training would kick in and she would do whatever it took to bring her crew home alive. That much she knew she still had in her.

Soon, she assured herself, we'll all be safely back in the womb of hyper-sleep.

She knew that once Olivera finished the last set of course calculations and corrections and a decision was made regarding Richwood, the chambers would close over them, the needles would come down and they would drift pleasantly away to where decisions no longer had to be made and the hostile universe could not intrude. A calm descended over her with that thought, providing the clarity that had eluded her earlier.

“Richwood will have to go into quarantine,” Kim said absently, sipping at her mug.

“Yeah, so will the rest of us,” Kate added, looking dismayed at the thought.

When they returned to Earth, they would all have to spend weeks in an isolation ward until the medics were convinced none of them were carrying some sort of alien pathogen, not to mention hours of tedium as they were each “debriefed” by company higher-ups about their experience with and handling of the alien now in a stasis pod in the infirmary. Kate's only consolation was that - due to his direct exposure to the creature - Richwood (provided he woke up by then) would likely be placed in solitary isolation being poked and prodded with needles and she wouldn't have to deal with him.

Visions of green grass and sand underfoot beneath blue skies filled Kate's mind. She imagined the beach and the little town surrounding the house in Southampton. A reunion with Martha, Alexis and her father, perhaps even Lanie and the boys. She leaned into Castle's chest and rested her head on his shoulder with a soft, lazy smile on her face.

Every eye turned as the galley door slid open and a new figure joined them. Olivera looked tired and depressed as she accepted the cup of coffee offered to her.

“How about a little something to lower everyone's spirits?” she offered glumly.

“Thrill me,” Kim replied sarcastically. “You know how I just love bad news.”

Everyone tried to prepare themselves for what they suspected was coming, what Olivera had remained on the bridge to work out.

“According to my calculations,” Olivera began, “based on time spent after dropping off course, taking into account travel time to and from LV-426 and time spent investigating and making repairs...”

“Give me the short version,” Kim, interrupted. “We know the specifics, just hit us with the bad news already. How long to Earth?”

Olivera took a sip of her coffee as she slumped into a chair and said sadly, “Ten months.”

“Christ,” Kate muttered as she stared at the bottom of her cup and Castle's arms gripped her tighter.

The house in Southampton and their combined family receded farther away in Kate's mind, blending together into a pale blue-green haze well out of reach. Ten months spent in hyper-sleep may not feel like much more than a few days to them, but it was ten more months that Alexis would have to wait to see her father again. Ten more months Martha would be without her son. More guilt she heaped upon herself for dragging Castle out into the black with her.

The intercom beeped for attention and Kim acknowledged it with a flick of her hand against the panel.

“What’s up, Ash?” Kim asked.

“Come see Richwood... right away.” Ash reported, no inflection in his voice one way or the other, urgently phrased, yet curiously hesitant, sending a ramrod into Kim's spine.

“Is there a change in his condition?” Kim asked, concerned, “Is it serious?”

“It’s simpler if you just come see him for yourself,” Ash replied before closing the channel.

Coffee was left steaming on the deserted table as everyone rose from their seats on their way to the door. Worst case scenarios filled Kim's mind as they all raced to the infirmary. The worst of which involved a swarm of tiny, gray, hand-shaped aliens crawling possessively over the infirmary walls, devouring the hapless corpse of Tom Richwood.

As they skidded to a stop outside the window of the infirmary, they were met with the last thing any of them expected to see:

Tom Richwood sitting up on the infirmary table, his eyes open and legs swinging from his perch where he sat under his own power as if he had never been out of action.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** Anyone who knows anything about Alien probably has a pretty good idea what's coming next chapter. Those that don't... well... I'm pretty sure you'll figure it out.
> 
> Mark.


	10. Tell 'Em I Ain't Coming Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** Fair warning to those of you who have not seen this coming. This chapter is gonna be a bit gruesome. Just saying.

**Chapter Ten**   
**Tell 'Em I Ain't Coming Back**

* * *

_Banhov: Tom? Tom was jackass._  
 _Drove everyone crazy, the way he doled out food and supplies_  
 _and tried to leverage everyone for making even tiniest error._  
 _Trust me, they may be scared to say it, but no one’s sad he’s dead._  
 _No one was looking forward to spending rest of lives with him on other planet._  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Ash had greatly understated the matter when he’d reported a change in Richwood’s condition. The exec was sitting up on the medical platform, eyes open and focused, taking in his environment as he turned to acknowledge the group of people who had burst into the infirmary.

“Richwood,” Kim breathed, unable to believe what she was seeing, trying to reconcile the man sitting on the auto-doc's platform with the nightmare scenario that had been running through her brain on the way down here. “You all right?”

He looks fine, she thought in a haze. As though nothing had ever happened.

“You want anything?” Olivera asked, when the exec failed to answer Kim’s query.

The salacious look in his eye as he leered unashamedly at both Olivera and Beckett, raising the hackles on Castle's neck, was all the assurance anyone would need that Richwood had not gained a miraculous change in personality from his ordeal, though none of them but Kim could find recognition in his gaze.

“Mouth’s dry, could I have some water?” he croaked finally, clearly hoping either Kate or Olivera would get it for him, though it was clear to everybody that he didn't seem to know why. His reaction had been virtually identical when Kate and Castle had first reported aboard. Like he had only just met her.

Kim recalled what Richwood's symptoms reminded her of: a man suffering from amnesia. The exec looked alert and fit, but was trying to make sense of what to him must be an unfamiliar environment.

“Can I have some water?” he asked again.

Much to Richwood's obvious disappointment, it was neither Kate nor Olivera, but Ash who moved to a dispenser, drew him a cupful of water and handed it to him. His disappointment only seemed to last for a moment before the exec tipped the cup and downed it in a single long swallow.

Kim noted to herself that his coordination seemed unaffected. He had brought the cup to his lips and drank without any apparent effort on his part. Though she was gratified that he seemed physically okay she was still convinced that something had to be wrong with him. He'd been attacked not even two days ago by an alien life form. He had spent the better part of that time with said creature affixed to his face and the rest of it in a coma.

“More, please,” Richwood said, holding out the cup to Ash who refilled it and handed it back to him. He emptied the cup in a single swallow, as if he hadn't had a drop to drink in days, then leaned back on his hands, panting, as if the act had taken every ounce of strength he could muster.

“How do you feel?” Kim asked him.

“Terrible, Captain,” Richwood muttered, “I feel like I went ten rounds with an angry gorilla. What the hell happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?” Ash asked.

Richwood winced slightly as he adjusted his position on the pallet, his muscles cramping from lack of use, and took a deep breath.

“Don’t remember a thing,” he replied, “I can barely remember my name.”

“Just for the record and medical report,” Ash inquired professionally, “what is your name?”

“Richwood, Thomas Richwood,” he replied.

“That’s all you can remember?” Ash asked.

"Just mine, and Captain Kim, for the moment.” He let his gaze travel slowly over the other anxious faces. His gaze lingered as he looked Kate up and down, appraising her unashamedly like a piece of meat.

“The rest of you look familiar,” Richwood replied his eyes never once ceasing his appraisal of Kate's body, “though I can’t put names to any of you yet.”

“You will in time,” Ash assured him. “You can remember your name and people's faces. That’s a good start, a sign that your memory loss isn't absolute.”

All through Ash's reassurance, Richwood's eyes continued to rake over Kate's body, making her cringe inwardly. He'd undressed her with his eyes in exactly the same way the first time they'd been introduced, and his appraisal still made her skin crawl.

“Though, in your case,” He said to Kate with undisguised lust in his voice, “I wouldn't mind getting to know you a lot better”

That was just about enough for Castle. Though he had a certain amount of sympathy for the man's condition, there was no way he was going to put up with another round of his behavior toward Kate during the departure from Sol and transit to and from Thedus. Castle stepped in front of Kate, placing his body between his wife and the man's leering stare.

It wasn't the first time in their lives, nor even their marriage that Kate had been the subject of such attention from men who saw her body and nothing else, she had used that often enough undercover to get the upper hand with a suspect, but this was different. As their immediate superior on the ship, Castle knew how uncomfortable Richwood's behavior made her and he was long since beyond putting up with it. She was a valuable member of this crew - more valuable than he saw himself anyway - and she deserved to be treated with more respect.

“Do you hurt anywhere?” Banhov asked, distracting the man. As much as he might have otherwise enjoyed seeing Beckett squirm, the exec had a way of taking it just that one step too far.

“All over, like somebody beat me repeatedly with a stick.”

He sat up straight on the pallet again, swung his legs over the side and frowned, now that his view of Beckett had been blocked.

“How long was I out?” he sighed.

Kim stared at the man in obvious disbelief, wondering how she had never noticed this behavior from him before. It was obvious he had been much better at hiding it, at disguising his impulses. She did her best to tamp down her anger at the man. She'd only have to put up with this bullshit for a little while longer, so she buried it behind her duty as his Captain.

“Couple of days," she replied. “You sure you don’t have any recollection of what happened to you?”

“Nope.” he said, casting a sidelong glance at Olivera, “Not a thing.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Ash asked him.

“I don’t know.” he replied, his eyes staring through the navigator like she wasn't even there, clearly searching his memory for something he couldn't seem to find.

“We were pulled out of hyper-sleep to investigate a distress signal and were extravehicular , exploring an alien ship we found.” Kim prodded, “Do you recall anything about what happened there?”

Richwood's brow crinkled in concentration as he closed his eyes and fought to make sense of the conflicting images spinning wildly behind his eyelids, trying to separate which ones were real and which were imagination, fantasy or nightmare. Only one thing seemed to jump out at him and he didn't like it, given how pale his skin had suddenly become.

“Just a horrible recurring sensation of being slowly smothered,” Richwood replied, once he found his voice. “Everything else is a blank. Are we still there?”

“No,” Olivera replied, “I’m delighted to say that we’re back in hyperspace, on our way home.”

“Yeah,” Granger added, “it's almost time to go back to the freezers. One more long nap and then we'll be home.”

Granger was as anxious as everyone else to return to the mindless womb of hyper-sleep. They were all looking forward to putting this nightmare behind them, even though none of them were necessarily eager to experience the dreams that awaited them once they were fully under.

“I’m all for that,” Richwood replied. “but, I’m starving. I feel like I haven't eaten in days.”

The sight of Richwood up and about like nothing had happened was hard to reconcile in any of their minds with the memories of the alien horror that had come aboard attached to his face. It would almost be possible for them to imagine he had merely suffered a terrible accident were it not for the petrified creature motionless in its stasis tube for all to see, a terrifying reminder that the nightmare of the past few days had been real after all.

Kate knew for a fact that she wanted to spend at least a little time curled up alone with Rick somewhere quiet - most likely the communications blister - where they could try to dispel the nightmare scenarios she was certain must be running like wildfire through his brain (if her own scattered thoughts were any indication). They had a lot to discuss about the future after this trip as well. She had decisions to make that she needed his input on. This trip had opened her eyes about what was really important to her and their life. Not the least of which included their family and the possibility of adding to it.

“Yeah, I could eat, too,” Banhov agreed as his stomach growled indelicately. “Tough enough coming out of hyper-sleep with your belly rumbling, no sense going under on an empty stomach, too. Makes it easier coming out.”

“I won’t argue that,” Kim replied. “I don't think any of us have eaten right with everything that's gone down the last few days. I think we could all use some nourishment, something to settle our stomachs before we go under. One meal before bed, coming up.”

* * *

Coffee and tea had been joined on the mess table by individual servings of food. Everyone ate slowly, their enthusiasm for the trip home foremost on their minds, rather than the bland offerings of the auto-chef which would normally have dominated their conversations around the galley table. Even Charlie the cat, having recovered from his experience on the bridge was eating delicately from a dish set out for him on the table, as if he knew he was soon to be back in his pod dreaming his cat dreams with the rest of them.

Castle made a note to himself to make some changes for the next trip out. He had a guy everywhere and was certain one of them could do something about the auto-chef's bland fare. _A crew travels on their stomachs_ , he thought to himself, practicing the language for the requisition order, _better food is good for morale and increases crew efficiency_.

Richwood was the only one not eating normally. He was never one to enjoy the shipboard food any more than the rest of them, but he was heartily wolfing down huge portions of the artificial meats and vegetables like they were going out of style, having already finished two normal helpings and starting a third with no sign of slowing down.

“First thing I’m going to do when we get back is eat some decent food.” Richwood said, waving a spork at them emphatically, speaking with his mouth full. “I’m sick of this processed artificial shit. I don’t care what the manuals say, it still tastes like recycled crap and no amount of spicing or seasoning can eliminate it.”

“I’ve had worse,” Banhov commented thoughtfully, remembering his father's abysmal cooking as a boy, “but I’ve had a hell of a lot better, too.”

Olivera graced Richwood with a glance as she contemplated the food on her own plate.

“For somebody who doesn’t like the stuff,” she commented, “you’re pounding it down like there’s no tomorrow.”

“I kind of like it,” Banhov explained, shoveling down another spoonful. “Better than anything I ever got at home growing up anyway.”

“No kidding?” Richwood commented between sporkfulls, but he threw the engineer a curious look like he thought the engineer wasn't entirely right in the head.

“So I like it,” Banhov shot back, tried not to sound defensive. “It sort of grows on you.”

“Yeah, like a fungus,” Richwood snarked. “You do know what this stuff is made out of, right?”

“I know exactly what it’s made out of,” Banhov replied. “So what? It’s food now. You’re hardly the one to talk, the way you’re gulping it down.”

“I’ve got an excuse.” Richwood explained, as he slid another huge sporkful into his mouth. “I’m starving.” He glanced around the table. “Anyone know if a coma can affect appetite?”

“Appetite, nothing,” Kim replied as she picked at the remnants of her dinner. “You've had nothing in your system but liquids since we brought you back to the ship. Sucrose, dextrose and saline solution will keep your system hydrated and functioning but it isn't exactly filling, it's no wonder you’re starving.”

“I suppose so,” Richwood replied as he swallowed another mouthful. “It’s almost like I… like I…” He broke off, grimaced, then looked confused and panicked.

Ash leaned toward him. “What is it… what’s wrong? Something in the food?”

“No…” Richwood gasped, “I don’t think so... tasted all right. I don’t think…’ He stopped mid-sentence again, his expression strained and he was grunting and groaning steadily.

“What’s the matter then?” asked a concerned Kim.

“Don’t know,” Richwood's face twisted in agony, “I’m getting... cramps… getting worse.”

Everyone watched, frozen in place, as the exec’s face twisted in pain and confusion, groaning as he clutched the edge of the table with both hands. He had grown pale as his entire body seemed to spasm uncontrollably.

“Breathe deeply,” Ash advised, when no one else offered any suggestions, “work at it.”

Kane tried, but the deep breath turned into a scream. He stood unsteadily, leaning back, hands still gripping the table as if afraid to let go.

“Ohhhh!” he moaned as his body continued to spasm and twist in agony.

“What is it?” Granger asked helplessly. ‘What's wrong, something in…?”

Richwood's agonized scream cut off Granger’s questioning. The exec tried to rise from the table, failed and fell back, no longer in control of his own body. His eyes bulged as another agonized shriek tore loose from his throat and echoed around the small galley.

“His shirt…” Kate gasped in horror, as thoroughly paralyzed as the rest of them, pointing at the slumping officer’s chest.

A red stain had appeared on Richwood's shirt, spreading rapidly to a broad, uneven bloody smear across his entire lower chest, accompanied by the grotesque sounds of flesh and fabric tearing until his shirt split open like the skin of a melon.

Fabric and flesh peeled back as a small head the size of a man’s fist punched outward. It writhed and twisted like the head of a turtle appearing from its shell. Its tiny skull was mostly all teeth, sharp and red-stained. Its skin was the same sickly pale gray as the creature that had come back on the man's face, darkened now by a crimson slime of blood and gore. Other than the mouthful of sharp teeth, it displayed no external organs, not even eyes.

Olivera screamed, along with Kate and Rick, panic and terror on full display as everyone reflexively sprang back from the table, preceded only in instinctive retreat by Charlie. Back arched, tail fully erect, hair standing on end, he hissed and spat ferociously at the creature. He bounded from the table, clearing the distance from table to door in two muscle-straining, long legged leaps. A blur of orange fur on full retreat.

Convulsively, the small creature lunged outward, launching itself from within Richwood's destroyed torso. The head and neck they'd seen first was attached to a slender, compact body covered in the same sickly gray flesh. Sinewy arms and legs ending in razor sharp claws propelling it, the creature sprang forward with blistering speed and landed messily among the dishes and food on the table trailing blood and gore from Richwood's torso, leaving a grotesque trail back to the exec's corpse in its wake.

Before anyone could regain their senses or move to react, the alien sprang from the table with the speed of a crocodile and vanished through the same open door Charlie had taken seconds earlier out into corridor. The only indication of its departure being the trail of Richwood's blood on the floor.

For several minutes, nobody moved, all of them stunned into silence, only their heavy breathing to be heard among them. Richwood's lifeless corpse still slumped back in his chair, head thrown back blocking his face from immediate view, for which Kim was grateful as neither she nor anyone else had to look at his open eyes, staring out into nothing, his mouth still open as if in a silent scream.

There was a huge, ragged hole in the executive officer’s chest where the creature had exploded out, almost identical to the corpse in the Prometheus escape pod. Even from several paces away it was clearly evident how his internal organs had been pushed aside - virtually undamaged – where the creature had grown within him.

Dishes and uneaten food lay scattered on table and floor, nearly all of it spattered with Richwood's blood, a trail of which pointed across the table in the direction the alien had taken on it's exodus from the room.

“No, no, no, no…!” Olivera began repeating over and over, staring blankly at the table. She was the first among them to break the silence.

“What was that?” Granger murmured, gazing fixedly at the gaping hole in Richwood's corpse. “What the fuck was that?”

Banhov looked green, like he was going to be sick and didn't even consider taunting Kate when she turned away from them all to retch into the recycling bin, Castle standing behind her holding her hair.

“It was growing inside of him the whole time,” Granger continued, “and he didn’t even know it.”

“Used him as an incubator,” Ash theorized quietly. “Like certain wasps do with spiders on Earth. Paralyze them, lay their eggs on the body...and when the larvae hatch, they begin to feed on…”

“Shut up!” Olivera screeched, snapping out of her shocked trance. “For God's sake, just shut the fuck up!”

“I was only…” Ash began, actually looking hurt at her rebuke, but stopped at a glare from Kim, nodded almost imperceptibly and changed the subject.  “It’s self-evident what happened.”

“That dark stain on the medical monitors,” Kim whispered, wondering if she looked as pale and shaken as the others. She'd seen worse carnage in combat, but this felt more visceral all of a sudden, more real than the haze of a battlefield had ever allowed for. “It wasn’t on the lens after all. It was inside him. Why couldn't the scanners distinguish that?”

“When we were monitoring him internally, the stain was far too small to take seriously, and without scan data, it really did resemble a lens defect. In fact, the system itself likely ignored it for the same reason."

“I don’t follow you,” Kim replied.

“It’s possible that this creature generates a natural field that blocked the scanning radiation, unlike the first form, the “hand” shape, which we were easily able to see into. It suggests biological requirements we can’t even begin to guess at, a deliberately produced defense adaptation so advanced I prefer not to guess at its purpose.”

“Just like the sensor data from the Prometheus escape pod, Captain,” Castle added. “Remember, it recorded Elizabeth Shaw's death, but not what caused it, nor did it record the other intruder, only what they did.”

“What this all really boils down to,” Kate stated when she found her voice, dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief she'd slipped from Castle's pocket, “is that we’ve got another alien. Potentially hostile and twice as dangerous.”

She glared icily at Ash, daring him to argue, but the science officer was not stupid enough to dispute her this time.

“Yeah. And it’s loose on my ship,” Kim replied as she stepped forward in the direction of Richwood's body and nodded to Ash to help her move him to the floor.

“Ash, go back to the infirmary,” Kim ordered, taking charge of the scene, “bring back a body bag and a stretcher so we can get Tom out of here. Beckett, since you and Castle have the most experience with crime scenes, I'd appreciate it if the two of you could handle cleanup. When that's done, I want a recon starting in the galley and fanning out. See if we can find where this thing is hiding, or barring that, at least find Charlie.”

* * *

Two hours later, Banhov and Granger descended the companionway leading from the service deck above and joined the rest of the crew in the recently cleaned galley. It was apparent that none of the search teams had met with much success.

“Any signs?” Kim asked.

“Nothing,” Olivera replied.

“Nothing,” echoed Ash, with obvious disappointment.

“Blood trail stopped short of the b deck companionway then not goddamn thing,” Banhov replied, “little fucker knows how to hide.”

“Didn’t see anything, either,” Granger confirmed, unusually chatty, “can't imagine where it’s got to. There are parts of this ship a creature Charlie's size can reach that we simply can't, but I wouldn’t think anything could survive in some of the ducts.”

“Yeah,” Kim replied, “but let’s not forget the environment where we found its first incarnation. We can surmise this thing is plenty tough, and adaptable as hell. Wouldn’t surprise me if we found it nesting on top of the fusion reactor.”

“If that’s where it’s got to,” Banhov pointed out, “we won’t be able to get anywhere near it.”

“Then let’s hope it’s gone someplace where we _can_ go after it,” Kim stated.

“Wherever it's gone, we’ve got to find it,” Kate pointed out sharply. “And Charlie, too.”

“I have an idea,” Granger added, “why don't we just go into hyper-sleep? Pump the air back into the tanks and suffocate the little fucker.”

“First off, we don’t know how long this form can survive without oxygen,” Castle argued heatedly. “It may not even need it. We only saw a mouth, not nostrils.”

“Nothing can survive without some kind of atmosphere,” Granger shot back, a little less positive about his idea, but no less sincere.

“Want to bet your life on it?” Castle asked in response. “Maybe it takes whatever gases it requires from its… food. If so, it only has to live without air long enough to find the hyper-sleep chambers. We’d be sitting… no, sleeping ducks in the freezers. The first form melted through the face-plate of Richwood's helmet like a lighter on candle wax. Who’s to say this version can’t do the same to the freezers?”

Kate nodded in agreement with her husband. “He's right, there's no way I’m going under until we’ve found the thing and killed it.”

“But we can’t kill it!” Olivera added, her foot kicking at the deck in frustration. “If we shoot it, and the little pendejo's anything like the first one, it could spill or squirt enough acid to breach the hull. You all know how critical hull integrity is during faster-than-light. At this speed even a small breach would open us up like a tin can.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” muttered Granger, “if we can’t kill it, what the fuck do we do when we find it?”

“If we can't kill it outright,” Kate replied, “then we have to find a way to track it down, catch it and throw it out of the airlock.”

Kate looked over at Kim for confirmation of her proposed plan, who pondered it for a moment, her mind distracted by a hundred other possibilities.

“I don’t see any other alternative,” she said quietly.

“If we don't do something soon, then it won’t matter what we decide,” Ash informed them. "Our supply of oxygen is based on us spending a very limited amount of time out of hyper-sleep. I strongly suggest we get started immediately on some kind of organized search or we won't have much alternative but to go with Granger's plan.”

“I don't say this very often,” Kate replied, “but Ash is right, the sooner we get started the better.”

“No,” Kim replied solemnly, but firmly drawing every eye in the room to her. “That little crawling nasty can keep, there's something else we have to take care of first.”

“And what, pray tell, might that be?” Olivera asked, her patience running thin.

Captain Elise Kim straightened her shoulders as she rose ramrod-straight to her full height, her Colonial Marine Corps background clearly evident as she stared Olivera down with a hard glare that would have made her drill instructor proud.

“Tom Richwood may have been a fuck-up and a womanizing, male chauvinist pig who had no business working in space,” she said through clenched teeth to keep from shouting, her voice making it clear that she was not to be defied, “but he was still a member of this crew and we at least owe him a decent burial.”

The galley was silent as a tomb for the better part of a minute as Kim surveyed the room, looking each and every one of them in the eye, daring anyone to challenge her. When no one did, she broke the silence herself.

“Burial detail in twenty minutes.”

The words had barely left her lips before she turned on her heel and marched from the room, her boots clearly audible all the way down the corridor, leaving the assembled crew to mill about in stunned silence.

 


	11. Interlude

**Chapter Eleven**  
**Interlude**

* * *

 _Beckett: She knows she's lying to us and if she runs those diagnostics we'll discover the truth._  
 _Castle: And that truth will somehow put the mission at risk._  
 _Jansen: She's a machine. She can't lie._  
 _Castle: You said she's programmed to learn. What if somebody taught her how?_  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Kim looked back down the corridor, to the infirmary where she knew Richwood's body lay. Miscellaneous supplies had yielded just enough material to make a crude shroud to wrap around the sterile-looking, black body bag, which Banhov had been required to seal with epoxy and welding compound as there was nothing to sew it closed.

It was crude, but she felt the effort needed to be made if she was to add one more name to the list of the people lost under her command. One more face added to the ones that haunted her conscience.

She didn't care that nobody particularly liked him, herself included - with good reason. He'd died on her watch after being sent into danger by her command. His passing and burial would be marked and noted in her log.

Burial in space would not have ordinarily been her first choice, but he had no next of kin and there was nowhere on the Nostromo to keep his body for the trip home except the freezers. The transparent canopy of his freezer compartment would leave his gutted body exposed for all to see immediately upon reawakening and nobody wanted to wake up from hyper-sleep to a dead body. It would make the next trip out that much more difficult for everybody.

Better to lay him to rest out here, quick and clean in the quiet depths of space where his transgressions could be put behind them as well. She could choose to remember the man she'd thought he had been. The man she had respected before she'd learned what he really was, sure in the knowledge that his memory alone could not hurt anyone else.

There was no formality, or real ceremony to what they were doing, other than noting Tom Richwood's passing. Kim knew he did not deserve more than that. There was no honor guard, no rifles, no folded flag. He was due none of those things, really. But this simple act was the one thing they owed him as a human being. They would show respect for his rank, his position on this ship if not for the man.

In the back of her mind, however, she couldn't help but think that the crew was in better hands now that his duties had passed to Kate Beckett.

* * *

Back on the bridge, they stood at their stations, Richwood's conspicuous with his absence. The air seem thick as Vaseline as she checked readouts on the arm of her chair.

 _“Main airlock inner hatch sealed,”_ MIRA stated, her tone unchanged regardless of situation.

Kate nodded. She'd had nothing but contempt for the man, but her time in homicide had taught her that no one deserved the gruesome death he had suffered.

 _“Main airlock pressurized with unfiltered carbon dioxide,”_ MIRA reported.

Kim looked looked from one face to another on the bridge, none spoke a word or returned her gaze.

“Anybody want to say anything?” she asked.

Naturally, there was nothing to say other than Richwood was dead. He would never be punished for his misdeeds. None of the crew were particularly forthcoming with hollow words of kindness on his behalf.

Olivera was the only one to speak up. “Let's just get this over with.”

That wasn't exactly tactful of the ship's navigator as far as Kim was concerned, but she really couldn't blame her. The alien loose aboard ship was not going away, and their oxygen supply was limited. They could spare only just enough gas in the airlock to send Richwood's body on its way.

“We, the assembled crew of the USCSS Nostromo,” Kim stated formally, “consign our executive officer, Thomas Richwood to the depths of space. May he find his way without us.”

Kim didn't think that was much of an epitaph, but she couldn’t think of anything better to say. She nodded to Kate, who made an adjustment on her console as she snapped to full attention.

 _“Warning: Outer airlock door opening without decompression,”_ MIRA's voice stated.

The outer cover on the lock popped out and slid open, the flash decompression of the airlock propelling Richwood's body out into space with enough force to eject it from the static field around the ship. In that instant, his relatively unprotected body was almost instantly vaporized by both the vacuum of space and the forces of FTL travel - a neater departure from the material plane than he'd had in death.

Kim knew that Richwood's last, tormented scream before the alien burst from his chest would be a sound she would carry with her until the day she died. She doubted anyone else would forget that either, least of all Olivera.

* * *

The crew reassembled in the mess. It was easier to discuss things when everyone could see everyone else without straining. Though it felt odd to see the place so clean this soon after what had happened, as if the events of that morning had never occurred.

“I’ve checked on supplies,” Kate reported, nothing if not efficient. Kim was sure that was how she coped with stress, to bury herself in her job. “With stimulants we can keep going for about a week. Maybe a day longer, but no more than that.”

“Then what?” Granger responded as he picked at his chin.

“We run short of food and oxygen,” Kate replied. “Food we can manage without, oxygen we can’t. We need to have enough of the latter when we come out of hyper-sleep so we don't suffocate before we dock.”

“All right then,” Kim stated, trying to sound confident. “That’s where we stand. Less than a week to find this thing and either trap it or kill it outright. That should be plenty of time.”

Granger looked at the floor before speaking. “I still say we try exhausting the air. Seems the safest way to kill it to me. Ash gets his sample for the company pukes and it avoids the need to confront it directly. We don’t know what additional nastiness this one can dish out.”

“We discussed that, remember?” Kate reminded him.

“That presumed we’d spend the airless time in the freezers,” Granger replied. “Suppose we sit it out in pressure suits instead? At least if I'm wrong about its oxygen needs, the little fucker can’t sneak up on us if we’re awake in our suits.”

“What a swell idea,” Olivera commented sarcastically, not exactly looking forward to spending another long period in her suit. She felt claustrophobic in the damn thing under the best of times. After this recent experience, she was especially not amenable to the idea.

“What’s wrong with it?” Granger asked.

“We’ve got forty-eight hours of air in our pressure suits,” Ash explained. “If the creature can go forty-nine without breathable air, we’re right back where we started.”

“Other than that,” Olivera commented icily, “it's a swell idea.”

“Maybe if we rigged an extension from the suit tanks,” Banhov added, backing up his partner's play, “we can fabricate a valve to supplement from the ship's tanks directly. The connections would be tricky, but doable. The two of us did get the engines back up, without all the proper tools, you know.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, guys,” Kate replied. “But it’s not practical.”

Ash spoke sympathetically to the two men. “You’ll recall that we discussed the definite possibility this creature may be able to survive without air. Provided your plan works, the suits are too bulky to effectively hunt it down to confirm its demise, considering all the places a creature that size might choose to hide.”

“And if it takes too long,” Castle added, trying not to be condescending, “we’ll have used so much air in the suits that none would be left to meet us when we emerge from hyper-sleep. The freezers will open automatically… to vacuum.”

“We could program MIRA not to revive us upon reversion to regular space,” Granger supplied. “She is perfectly capable of piloting the ship into dock. She could broadcast a message for Sol station to pump us with air before boarding.”

Ash looked doubtful.

“Beckett and I may have our personal disagreements,” he began, “but I concur with her on one critical point. We can’t risk re-entering the freezers until we’re sure the creature is either dead or safely contained. We can’t track it down to make sure if we spend several days in our suits only to have to run to the freezers.”

“I still think it’s a good idea,” Banhov snorted.

“Perhaps,” Kate replied, moderating her tone, “but one of last resort. Let’s get to the real problem. How do we find it? We can try a dozen ways of killing it, but only after we know where it is. Between the fire and the other one's acid spill, sensors are out on B and C decks. Even if they were still functioning properly, there's some doubt they would detect the thing, remember?”

“So we flush it out,” Kim supplied, surprised how easy the obvious choice was to make. _Guess I'm still a Marine after all_ , she thought to herself.

“Sounds reasonable,” admitted Ash. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

“There’s only one way we can be sure not to miss it and maximize our air time,” she replied, knowing it was something that only she and possibly Kate had been trained extensively for. “We’ll have to sweep for it room by room, corridor by corridor.”

“Maybe we can rig up some kind of portable freezer,” Castle suggested halfheartedly. “Freeze each room and corridor from a dis -” he broke off after an arched eyebrow from Kate and a shake of Kim's head.

“Not that I’m all that scared, you understand,” Castle offered with a shrug. “Granger's right about one thing, I think it would be best to avoid a direct confrontation.”

“Knock it off, Castle,” Kim replied. “I admit that I’m scared of that thing. We all are, but we haven’t got time to screw around with something that complicated. We wasted precious time letting the auto-doc try to help him, ignoring the obvious. Besides, I want the pleasure of watching the little monster explode when we blow it out the lock.”

No one would have been surprised if she'd shouted _"Semper Fi Oooo Rah!"_ at the end of that little speech of hers and Kim was amazed at how easily it had come to the surface. How easily the fire had returned to her belly. The desire to hunt down this intruder to her ship, engage it and kill it for taking the life of one of her crew. She was once again the motivated MARINE she had once been. They would meet this head on and deal with it.

It was not exactly her most impassioned speech, but it had a galvanizing effect on the crew. They stood straighter, eyes meeting hers instead of the walls or floor. They were one crew and they had a mission now, only needing the tools to do the job.

“Fine,” Olivera shot back. “We root it out of wherever it’s hiding, then blow it out the lock, but how do we get from point A to point C?”

“Trap it somehow,” Kate replied, turning various ideas over in her head, all of them out of the question because of the creature's capacity to both bleed acid and avoid obvious means of detection.

“There might be substances we could use to trap it aside from metal, stuff it couldn’t eat through so quickly,” Castle thought aloud, his own thoughts not unexpectedly following the same line as Kate’s.

“Trylon cord, for example, is resistant to most corrosives,” Kate supplied, finishing his thought. “If we had a net made of the stuff, perhaps we could bag it without damaging it.”

Granger looked at the married couple. “We could put something together, weld it real quick.”

“What are we doing, going butterfly hunting?” Olivera sneered.

“How would we get it into the net?” Kim asked after fixing the navigator with a glare. Adapt, improvise, overcome, she thought proudly to herself.

“Have to use something that wouldn’t make it bleed, of course,” Banhov replied. “Knives and sharp probes of any kind are out. Same goes for guns. Granger and I could cobble together shock batons from metal and plastic tubing, along with some batteries, should be plenty in storage down in engineering.”

“Both the shock tubes and the nets?” Kim asked.

“Sure,” Banhov replied. “There's nothing too fancy involved.”

“First butterflies, now cattle prods,” Olivera sneered again, “do you guys hear yourselves?”

Kim mulled the plan over in her mind, visualizing the outcome. The alien backed into a corner, threatening them, claws and teeth against shock batons. Electrical shocks prod it in the direction they wanted it to go, gradually driving it into the net, then keeping it occupied while they dragged it to the airlock, sealing the hatch and blowing it into space where they could kiss the alien nightmare goodbye as the vacuum of space blew it to pieces.

They could hit the hyper-sleep chambers and be back to their clean, sane little world when they woke up, followed by two weeks in quarantine and at least a month off to spend their hazard pay while the Nostromo sits in dry-dock.

It was a pretty good plan of attack, if all went well. Like all plans, the true test would be first contact with the enemy.

“If you have a better idea, Olivera, now would be the time for it, if not, stow the negative waves,” Kim replied strongly, “Snap to it, people, time's wasting. We either get busy living or we get busy dying.”

* * *

Granger and Banhov wasted no time gathering the materials for the nets and the shock batons, dividing the tasks between them without a word between them. Banhov powered up the same welder he had used to seal the ducts and set about fusing together the sections of the corrosive resistant cable to form their net. Only the fusion welder had a high enough specific heat to melt it, and only with deliberate effort.

Granger set to work on the shock tubes, selecting tubing almost four feet long to enable the user to remain as far from the creature as possible, the hardened electrode at the end giving each shock baton more the appearance of a small spear than the cattle prod Olivera had so sarcastically described.

When that was done, he began performing the delicate electrical wiring between the shielded and grounded hand-grip and the electrode. Slow, delicate work he was much better suited to than the more hot-tempered Banhov. He wanted each shock baton to have a comforting heft to it, in case it needed to be used in a more direct manner. Once he'd come up with a working unit that functioned as desired, he set to work on three more.

Both of them paused in their work periodically, eyes in constant motion, checking each vent and grate in engineering - especially whenever they heard a noise they could not immediately identify - arc welders and other tools that could be turned to lethal purpose never far from easy reach.

* * *

Meanwhile on the bridge, Castle, Beckett and Olivera did their best to focus their attention elsewhere. Having long talked the questions of where the creature might be, or what it might be doing to death, they sat in relative silence, torn between sealing the door and leaving it on auto-open in case Charlie came running. The cat had not been seen since the creature had emerged, and Kate was starting to worry about him.

Castle did his utmost to keep them all occupied, regaling them with stories about some of their more interesting cases, highlights of Alexis' childhood, even excerpts from some of his books - anything he could think of to keep spirits up.

He knew that the one thing Kate most hated doing was nothing, especially when danger loomed. She would rather be out there hunting for the creature, or barring that, searching for Charlie, who was out there alone with that thing on the loose, an innocent in danger, which he knew called out to her instincts to protect those weaker than herself. He didn't know how much longer she would be content to wait, sharing his seat on the bridge, curled into him, listening to his stories.

* * *

Elise Kim was otherwise occupied, as she made the quick walk to the infirmary, her mind filled with suspicions and conspiracy theories. As an officer in a Colonial Marine expeditionary unit, she was no stranger to spooks and bureaucratic nonsense, both of which had gotten good Marines killed.

She had kept her suspicions to herself ever since Beckett first pointed out the dark blotch in Richwood's chest scan, a blotch that had not moved with the sensor like she knew it should have, had it been a deformity in a scanning lens. Ash's initial diagnosis of the problem had been difficult to challenge, given that the only solution to prove otherwise at the time would have taken the auto-doc offline for several hours, a diagnostic that would not have been finished before Richwood woke up anyway.

Something had felt off about Ash ever since they had landed on LV-426 and she intended to find out what that was. For now she was content to get to the bottom of it in private, give him a chance to come clean with her, if it was what she suspected.

When she arrived, Ash was seated at the infirmary's central readout console. When the door slid open, announcing her presence, he looked up, nodded in greeting then went back to his work. Kim watched him work, her eyes moving back and forth repeatedly between him and the screen. The numbers, words and diagrams on the screen were more comprehensible to her than the man performing them.

“Work or play, Ash?” Kim asked, finally breaking the relative silence.

“No time for play,” Ash replied without inflection as he studied a list of molecular chains for a particular hypothetical amino acid as the selected chains slowly rotated in three dimensions.

“I was able to get some samples from the first hole the hand alien's acid ate through the deck,” Ash explained, nodding his head toward the tiny crater next to the medical platform where the creature had bled. “If I got a good enough sample to get a grip on its chemical composition, I might be able to break it down and come up with a nullifying agent. If I succeed and we have to shoot it, then it can bleed all it wants and we won't compromise the hull.”

“A sound idea,” Kim admitted, watching Ash closely. “If anyone aboard can do it, you can.”

“That’s my job,” Ash replied with an indifferent shrug.

Kim remained silent for a few minutes, studying the readouts before she broke the silence again.

“There's a matter we need to discuss, privately,” she said.

“I’ll let you know the minute I find anything,” Ash assured her with a dismissive shrug.

“That’s not what I want to talk about,” Kim replied.

Ash eyed her curiously, then turned back to the scan data.

“I don't think now is the time, I’m pretty busy right now. I think you would agree that breaking down the structure of this acid is a matter of critical importance. We can sit and chat later. ”

Kim paused for a moment, weighing her options, but chose to forge ahead. “I don't think this can wait, Ash.”

Ash turned from his work again to level a glare at her.

“It’s your neck I’m trying to save, too,” Ash stated sarcastically. “But if you think this is more important, by all means, go ahead.”

Kim's expression hardened. Kate had informed her of her own run-in with Ash on this topic, but had dismissed her concerns at the time. Now, the man had all but accused her of neglecting crew safety, which she would not abide - from anybody.

“Why did you let the alien survive inside Richwood?”

The science officer scowled. “Nobody let anything survive inside him. It just happened.”

“That's bullshit and you know it,” Kim shot back icily, her tone becoming dangerous.

“Hardly a rational evaluation of the situation, Captain,” Ash replied dryly, not intimidated by her tone.

“You know damned well what I’m talking about,” Kim shot back, exasperated. “MIRA was monitoring the auto-doc and you were monitoring MIRA. You're too good at your job not to have had some idea what was going on.”

“You saw the black stain on the monitor, same time as I did,” Ash replied calmly, knowing a display of temper would not work on the Captain as well as it had on Beckett “It was too ill-defined to recognize.”

“You expect me to believe the auto-doc didn’t have enough power to penetrate that?” Kim shot back, pushing for a reaction that Ash was clearly not giving her.

“It wasn't a matter of power but wavelength. The alien was likely able to screen out those utilized by the auto-doc’s scanners, at least those we could use without killing him. We've all discussed that possibility.”

“Assuming I buy that the alien could somehow generate a defensive field that prevented scanning, - and I’m not sure I do - MIRA should have detected other indications of that thing's presence. His weight loss and nutrient deficiencies aside,” Kim pointed out, “there was also Richwood's ravenous appetite at the mess hall right before he died. Isn’t the reason for that obvious?”

“Is it?” Ash asked

“That thing didn’t get that big inside him on its own, it was obviously drawing on Richwood's own supply of protein, nutrients and body fat to build its own body.”

“I agree,” Ash replied, “that much is obvious.”

“That sort of metabolic activity should have generated proportionate readings on the auto-doc’s gauges,” Kim pointed out, “not just a reduction of his body weight and body mass index, but other things.”

“What 'other things' are you referring to?” Ash asked, perplexed.

Kim only partially succeeded in keeping the frustration from her voice. “For starters, even if MIRA could not detect the creature itself, it was right between his lungs. To make a cavity large enough, it would have had to move them aside. That would have shown up on the scans.”

Kim stopped for a moment to lock down her emotions, then continued, “It isn't my job to handle these matters, but even I know that MIRA would have detected that change long before you or I could.”

“No, it isn't your responsibility,” Ash replied evenly, “it’s mine.”

“I’m not an idiot, Ash,” Kim snapped back. “Science may not be my forte, but I know how to parse a damn medical readout. And I can see what's going on.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Ash replied, his tone dangerously close to insubordination as he kicked his chair back from the console and rose to his full height. He crossed his arms and glared at her, leaning precariously into her personal space.

Anyone else would have been intimidated, even Beckett to some degree, but Kim was used to such behavior from her days in the corps. Son of Kong -as her training element had referred to their DI - had done his job well, kicked her her ass through boot, tore her down them built her back up. The Crucible had sealed the deal. No man alive could ever intimidate her after that, even now.

Who's like us? She thought to herself. Damn few and they're all dead.

“You wanted the alien to stay alive, badly enough to let it kill Richwood, you're one of the few people aboard who could alter MIRA's sensor package to ignore what was going on inside him. I've never seen you do anything without good reason. So I'm damned sure you have one.”

“You say I have a reason for this hypothetical insanity you’re accusing me of,” Ash replied, his voice taking on a dark, dangerous tone. “I'd certainly like to hear it.”

“We both answer to the same company,” Kim supplied, trying a different tack. “If you're acting under their orders, you can tell me in confidence. I just want to know what’s going on so I can protect my people.”

Kim knew he wasn't telling her the whole truth, but it was clear that accusing him outright wasn't working, she'd only pushed him into a corner. Her instincts had never lied to her. They had kept her alive in combat, and told her when it was time to get out. Those same instincts were now telling her that something about Ash wasn't ringing true, but she just couldn't put her finger on it and his denials were not filling her with confidence.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Ash replied, not backing down an inch, "and I don’t care for the insinuation. I won't deny that - as a scientist - I find the creature fascinating, and would love the opportunity to study it, but not at the expense of human life. Considering the danger it poses to this ship and her crew, I don't want it running around loose any more than you do.”

“You sure about that?” Kim replied, giving him one last chance to come clean.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Ash replied. “If you weren't under so much stress, you would be, too. Forget about it. I plan to.”

Kim nodded at him, turned and stalked out the door. She knew she was getting nowhere.

* * *

Ash was right about one thing, she’d been operating under a lot of pressure. She was personally responsible for the lives of the crew under her command, regardless of how the company human resources manual described her position. Where Ash had made his mistake was trying to use her psych profile against her.

She knew what it said on paper. _“Lt. Elise Kim, USCMC (ret.) resigned commission due to a lack of confidence in her ability to command under stress”_. Some took that to mean she'd lost it, but they were wrong. Only a company suit who had never spent a day in uniform and didn't understand what real honor was would ever make that incorrect assessment. She hadn't lost her capacity to make command decisions under stress. She'd done what was right and put the good of the _Corps_ and the people she served with before herself, like any decent Marine would.

Trying to use her psych profile against her was all the confirmation she needed that Ash wasn't to be trusted. She was pissed off and needed to be out doing something, not waiting for the thing loose on her ship to get its bearings and get hungry. She knew from experience that waiting for first contact with the enemy was, in many ways, more stressful to the psyche than the battle itself. The longer it went on, the more time there was for doubt to creep in.  Battles had been won or lost in those silences throughout history.

* * *

Halfway through her first circuit of “B” deck, she stopped at a comm panel and hit the connection for engineering.

“Engineering,” Banhov answered promptly.

“It's Kim,” she replied. “How are the nets and shock batons coming?”

“They're coming,” Banhov replied.

“Don't jerk me around, goddamn it,” Kim exclaimed. “I want specifics!”

“Take it easy, Captain,” Banhov replied testily. “We’re working as fast as we can. Granger can only solder power connections so quickly. When you corner that thing, you want to hit it with fifty thousand volts or not?”

“Understood,” Kim replied, feeling stupid for jumping down his throat. “Do your best.”

“Was doing that anyway,” Banhov replied, before cutting the line, “engineering out.”

 _What the hell is your major malfunction?_ Kim admonished herself. _Secure that shit and get yourself squared away, LT._

After the thoroughly unproductive conversation with Ash, her temper was fraying and she needed to get it together someplace where nobody could see her do it. The crew was depending on her to lead them through this crisis. If she was going to be the glue to hold them together, she needed to be squared away and on her “A” game.

There was only one place on the Nostromo where Kim knew she could snatch a few moments of complete privacy and feel reasonably secure at the same time. She hoped that Castle and Beckett hadn't beaten her to it, as it did have more comfortable seating for what she was certain they got up to than the science blister. She turned back down _“B”_ corridor, her head on a swivel, eyes peeled for movement in dark corners. She might need a few minutes to vent, but she hadn't forgotten how to clear a room or check her own six.

Within a few paces she reached the section of _“B”_ deck where a section of the corridor bulged slightly outward with a small, sealed hatch at the center. She entered her access code into the keypad and waited while the hatch slid aside along with a matching one on the shuttle, the closest thing the Narcissus had to a proper airlock.

She ducked under the low hanging hatchway and stepped inside, sliding her hand over the two hatch switches, choosing to close the inner one and leaving the corridor hatch open. She knew that by opening the corridor hatch a telltale had lit up, not only on her chair, but on Castle's console as well. That alone wouldn’t alarm anyone who might not be paying close attention, but closing it again might.

Sealing the Narcissus' inner hatch would keep any sound from reaching the corridor should anyone be passing by as her screaming began echoing off the small shuttle's walls, venting the pent-up rage and frustration that had been building inside of her since the long trip back to the Nostromo from that damned alien ship in the only way left open to her.

When she wasn't able to scream anymore, she fell to her knees and cried, unsure whether her tears were for Richwood, or the other twenty-six men and women whom she'd failed to bring home alive - whose memory haunted her dreams to this day. Most of that number from that last devastating accident - a training exercise gone horribly wrong - that had heralded the end of her last Marine command.

She only knew that this pain was crushing, and private... and Ash had had no right to even hint at it. She felt... violated and angry but she knew she needed to get it sorted.

The people she'd lost were dead and there was nothing more she could do for them other than honor their memory. But for now, she needed to put those ghosts back in their box where they belonged and get herself squared away firmly in the here and now. But for Richwood, this crew was still alive, and they needed her to keep them that way.

The living are tended to before the dead.

* * *

Charlie crouched in the darkest corner he could find. His finely tuned cat senses and night vision searched the darkness for the thing that had burst from the loud human. He had never like that one. It never petted him or scratched him or offered him even the slightest bit of affection. Not like his mistress did, or the tall long-haired one and her mate with the broad hands, warm lap and endless supply of treats. Even the other female and the two skinny males treated him better than the loud one. His opinion of the almost-human who smelled... off, was mixed.

But the thing that had burst from the loud one's chest was something beyond his understanding. It smelled wrong, looked wrong and moved wrong which terrified him. He knew exactly where it had gone, that it was much bigger than it had been only a short time ago and that his survival depended on knowing precisely where it was and making sure he was elsewhere.

Because the one thing he knew beyond all other things - like the humans - he was now prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Author's Note** No, this was not a cliffhanger, that last bit from Charlie's point of view was foreshadowing of what's to come. I borrowed a bit of "cat thought process" from International08's "Fluff"


	12. The Hunters Become The Hunted

**Chapter Twelve**   
**The Hunters Become the Hunted**

* * *

_Castle: One small murder for man, one giant mystery for mankind._  
 _Beckett: Even when you whisper, everyone can hear you._  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Captain Kim sat in her seat on the empty bridge, standing watch after her moment of weakness as if it had never happened. She knew she'd needed to purge all of her doubts and fears about herself and whether she was fit to lead them, needed to wrestle them back into their box where they belonged.

Duty to her ship and crew was not an abstract concept to Elise Kim.

Her crew needed her back at her best - at least until this crisis was over - needed her to be the MARINE she knew was still buried deep inside of her. She could do that. She had to. She was the Captain of this ship, and saw it as her responsibility, not one she could foist upon another, no matter how capable Kate Beckett might be.

When she'd arrived on the bridge an hour ago to find everyone huddled there for safety, she'd sent them all back to the galley with orders to eat something and find a way to get some rest. She needed them frosty for what was to come.

She heard the pounding of footsteps from out in the hallway and tensed, rising from her seat on full alert, all senses hyper-aware of every sound - even the swish of the air vents - sensations she couldn't recall feeling since she last suited up for combat. It had been nearly a decade since she'd mustered out, but her muscles remembered, her reflexes flared - combat-ready even after all this time.

When it registered that the approaching footsteps were Banhov and Granger instead of some unknown threat, she relaxed. Her mind and body ratcheted down from battle-stations to a more relaxed, alert status as Banhov dumped an armload of metal tubes into the seat of her chair, each about the diameter of her wrist. They clattered hollowly against each other, sounding and looking more like children's toys than weapons.

“Here you go,” Banhov said gruffly, his eyes daring her to comment, “shock batons and two nets ready for action. Granger made one of the shock sticks for each of us, fully tested and charged.”

Her eyes flashed indignantly for a moment at the way they had been dumped into her chair, like Banhov was rubbing her nose in their brief discussion over the comm, but she let it go. _Guess I deserved that for being a bitch earlier_ , she thought to herself. He got the job done, so she chose to let his impertinence go.

Granger dumped the two nets he had been carrying over one shoulder onto the floor, holding one corner so one of them unfurled between him and Banhov.

“We're ready to go hunting,” Granger said, feeling confident in their work.

Kim nodded.

“I’ll call the others,” she said, hitting her intercom panel to make the call. While she waited for the rest of the crew to arrive, she looked over the shock tubes with a critical eye.

First came Olivera then Ash from the infirmary, followed several minutes later by a sheepish looking Castle and Beckett. From the state of Beckett's hair and both of their uniforms it was obvious that they had taken her up on her suggestion of the solitude and comfort the Narcissus could offer.  She'd intentionally not looked in the direction of the telltale light on her chair for the shuttle's hatch after they'd left.

“We’re going out looking for that thing armed only with those?” Olivera complained, pointing at the tubes, her tone leaving little doubt as to her opinion.

Kim had her own doubts about them, but she was secretly glad they were voiced by someone else. She didn't want to seem critical of Granger's hard work, in the interests of morale. Olivera seemed to have designated herself the ship's official naysayer and doubting Thomas anyway, so Kim was content to let her run with it.

“Give them a chance,” Castle retorted.

“Everybody take one,” Banhov requested, sounding oddly polite for a change. Probably just eager to show off, Kim thought to herself.

Granger stepped up to distribute the units, each about three feet long. A barbed electrode at one end, the other bulged with compact instrumentation and a crude grip.

Kim swung the tube experimentally, getting the feel of it. It was neither too light nor particularly heavy and felt well-balanced in her hand, if a bit heavier at the far end. She liked the feel of the device, something she could swing between herself and the alien in a hurry in the narrow corridors of the ship, spurting acidic blood or more direct forms of defense notwithstanding. It felt good.

“I used zero-three-three portable chargers in each of these,” Granger explained. “They should deliver a pretty substantial jolt and won’t require immediate recharging unless you hold the discharge button down long enough to fully expend the unit.” He indicated the handle of his own tube. “You can shock the thing several times if needed, so don’t be afraid to use ’em.”

Granger seemed unusually pleased with himself. It had obviously been a long time since he'd built something from scratch. It led both Kim and Castle to secretly wonder what quiet shenanigans he'd gotten up to in engineering school. Castle's mind wandered through possible scenarios of battle bots or Rube Goldberg style devices, before Kate nudged him in the ribs with a raised eyebrow and an eye-roll, silently admonishing him to pay attention.

“They’re fully insulated at the grip and partway down the tube,” Granger continued. “You'll drop it real quick if you touch the non-insulated section when it's switched on, but the super-cooled conductive tube inside it carries most of the charge. It’ll deliver nearly one hundred percent of that power to the electrode at the far tip, so be goddamn careful not to touch it.”

Castle flipped the end of his tube up, his curiosity piqued, nine year old on a sugar rush on full display, only to be cuffed on the back of the head by his wife with a look in her eye that said, _“Don't even think about it.”_

“How about a demonstration?” Kate asked, her eyes still scolding Castle.

“Yeah, sure,” Granger replied, eager to show off his handiwork. He touched the end of his tube to a conduit running across the nearest wall and depressed the discharge button. A blue spark leaped from tube to duct along with a satisfying loud crack and the faint smell of ozone. The demonstration was all the urging Castle needed to point his back down and away from himself as quickly as he could.

“I tested each one after I finished them,” Granger explained, his eyes going from Kate to the Captain. “That's why it took so long. They're all fully charged and good to go.”

“Any way to modulate the voltage?” Kim asked.

Banhov shook his head.

“We tried to approximate something punishing but non-lethal,” he replied. “We don’t know any more about this variety of the creature than we did the other one, and under the circumstances there wasn't time to add current regulators. Each tube generates a single, unvariable charge. We’re not miracle workers, you know.”

“First time I ever heard you admit that,” Kate added mischievously.

Banhov ignored her as Granger carried on with the explanation.

“This charge setting shouldn't damage the little bastard - we’re as sure of that as we can be - unless its nervous system is a lot more sensitive than ours. Its parent was smaller, though, and plenty tough for its size. Of course, it won’t break my heart if one or two jolts from these succeeds in electrocuting the little darling.”

“Okay,” Olivera commented, relaxing a fraction. “So that handles the problem of capture and containment. What about the problem of finding it?”

“I’ve taken care of that,” Ash stated.

Everyone turned in shock to see Ash holding a small, pistol-shaped device.

“Since it’s imperative to locate the creature as quickly as possible,” Ash stated calmly, “I’ve done some tinkering of my own. Our intrepid engineers have done an admirable job cobbling together a means to trap and capture the creature. Here is the means for finding it.”

“A portable tracker?” Castle asked, impressed.

Kate couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship of the compact instrument, amazed Ash had been able to put together something so elegant-looking in the Nostromo’s science lab.

Ash nodded. “It's range is somewhat limited, but when you start to get close, it starts beeping. The display shows you how close any source of movement is, as well as its approximate location in relation to the device.”

Kate took one of the compact motion trackers from the science officer’s hand, turned it over and examined it with a professional eye. They'd been testing something similar in the NYPD for use by ESU to safely sweep rooms and crime scenes before she'd left.

“How does it work?” She asked, “How do we tell the alien from one of us?”

“Since we can't detect the creature directly,” Ash replied, “I incorporated a very sensitive air-density monitor along with a physical motion tracking device. Any moving object within its range will effect it and you can track multiple targets at once at different ranges. The screen attached over the grip will let you keep track of them. You can tell from the screen which direction each object is moving and how close to you they are, just keep it pointed ahead of you.”

Ash paused a moment before continuing to let his words sink in.

“As I mentioned, the range is pretty short, but that works to our advantage since now, two groups can work in relatively close proximity without one group setting off false readings on the others' trackers.  It’s not nearly as sophisticated an instrument as I wished to have, but it’s the best I could come up with in the limited time available.”

“That's incredible work, Ash,” Kim stated, looking at the tracker in Kate's hand approvingly. “This should allow us to coordinate our efforts and increase our chance of success. How many did you make up?”

“Two,” Ash replied, placing a duplicate of the device Kate was holding into Kim's hand.

“Good,” Kim replied, “we can sweep simultaneously with two teams on separate decks to maximize our efforts.”

Kim looked at Kate then nodded. “Since Beckett and I have the most experience with this sort of thing, we'll each lead a sweep team. We'll seal off “A” deck and I will have MIRA do regular motion detector sweeps since her sensors are fully operational here. She'll know which ones are caused by us using our sub-dermal tags. Olivera and Ash will sweep “B” deck with me. Beckett will take Castle, Banhov and Granger to sweep “C” deck and engineering.”

Everyone turned to Kim as they settled around their respective team leaders to await further instructions.

“My instructions aren't fancy. Stay in constant contact. Whoever bags it gets it into the lock and blows it into space as fast as the hatches will function. Kate, if you find it and aren't sure you can net it, coordinate with me and we'll set up an ambush for you to drive it into. I'll do the same.”

Kate nodded in understanding, her eyes darkening with intent. She always felt better in a situation that called for her to take direct action, and this was as direct as it came.

“For starters,” Kim added, “let's test our equipment.” Kate handed Castle the tracker she was holding and he turned it on, sweeping it around the bridge, his full attention on the small screen.

“Seven displacements,” he announced, “all accounted for. Providing this thing functions properly, the bridge is clean.”

“It works,” Ash stated, not seeming to take offense, “as you’ve just demonstrated.”

Kim surveyed the men and women of her crew, as proud of them as she could be while each one shouldered their respective gear and assembled into their search teams. They hadn't trained together for something like this, but they were working together to get it done. She'd make them honorary Marines if she could, she was so damned proud of them all.

“Everybody ready?” Kim asked firmly.

There were a couple of whispered, sullen ‘nos’, and the shuffling of feet. Kim was not satisfied, she needed them fired up.

“I can't hear you,” she bellowed, borrowing a page from her DI. “Everybody ready?”

“Sir, yes sir!” came the more confident response and everyone smiled. This time they were prepared for the alien and, hopefully, armed with the right tools for the task. She needed them to be confident in their purpose, ready to work together to defend their ship and each other from this invader.

“Channels are open on all decks,” Kim stated. “Remember to stay in constant contact, but if you sight the creature, your priority is to capture it and get it to the lock. Notifying the other team to coordinate an ambush is a secondary consideration. If you have the opportunity and think you can corner it, don't hesitate. Let’s move like we have a purpose, people.”

* * *

They filed out of the bridge and sealed the door, closing every door between the bridge and the main companionway, then that hatchway as well and split up into their assigned teams at the landing for “B” deck. Kim's team moved out into the corridor and sealed the hatch behind them as Beckett and her team continued down to “C” deck.

Olivera held one side of the net along with Ash on the other. Between the two of them, they kept the net open on opposite sides of the deck as Kim swept each room with the motion detector and sealed it behind her as she pronounced them clean.

“Anything down there?” Kim asked over the comm. “We’re clear up here.”

Banhov and Granger reset their grips on the net while Castle and Beckett paused ahead of them. The married couple exchanged a silent look between them after Castle consulted his tracker.

“Nothing here so far,” Kate reported. “Continuing our sweep.”

The tracker in Castle's hands suddenly started beeping and a small dot appeared on the screen at the outer perimeter of its scanning range.

“Hold it. I’ve got something,” Castle said, moving a few paces ahead to make sure it wasn't a false reading. It was still there, drawing gradually closer with every pulse of the device.

All four of them began looking up and down the corridor from floor to ceiling, mindful of how the last alien had dropped from a ceiling light fixture to land on Kate's shoulder. None of them were willing to take the chance that this one couldn't climb as well, not with the claws they had seen on its hands and feet. Kate was especially vigilant, not keen to repeat the experience of that creepy hand-shaped thing landing on her shoulder. It had taken Rick nearly an hour to pull her fully back together after that.

Though they saw nothing moving toward them and no sound of approaching small feet, the tracker's screen still showed the contact slowly converging on them with each pulse.

“Where the hell is it coming from?” Granger asked quietly as Castle frowned at the tracker.

“I don’t know,” Castle replied, “but if this thing is right, the little bastard's in the next room.”

“That's the access corridor for the internal cargo holds.” Kate reminded her husband, “On the way out from Earth we shipped supplies for Thedus station in them. Since we're pulling a refinery instead of shipping cargo for the return trip, we took on extra maintenance supplies and empty cargo containers as spacers to keep from pressurizing the empty holds. It’s gonna be a messy place to search.”

“Banhov, you and Granger take point,” Kate said after a short pause. “You two know this level better than I do, I just coordinate with station control and handle the shipping manifests.”

Carefully, keeping the net ready between them, Banhov, and then Granger slipped into the cargo area, which was poorly lit compared with the rest of the Nostromo. Nobody was supposed to come in here when the ship was between ports so only basic illumination was necessary. They paused at the door to the small access corridor to let their eyes adjust to the dim light.

When they finished this run, Kate promised herself she’d request a transfer to a liner or get out of the service. She’d made the same promise twice before, but this time she’d stick to it. Nobody sent a liner to do this kind of dangerous shit, they had important people aboard.

As the comm officer on a liner, Castle could people-watch to his heart's content when he was off-duty and soak up inspiration for his books, perhaps even entertain guests with his tales - not to mention how much kids loved him. Getting out and settling down with Castle, or maybe going back for her law degree suddenly didn't seem like such a daunting prospect anymore. It was time to stop running from her life and get back to living it. The thought of dragging the man she loved into even more danger than she already had turned her stomach.

She watched Castle point the tracker down one side of the corridor, the other to get a bearing.

Castle stated, pointing down the access corridor, “signals coming from this way, let’s go.”

“We’ll hit a split in the corridor soon,” Granger cautioned them. Sure enough, a few paces later, the corridor split in two directions. Castle moved out front with the tracker, sweeping both one fork and then the other.

“Down this way,” he whispered, pointing in the direction of the signal and they moved out again.

“Captain ought to demand an inspection,” Banhov muttered. “They’d condemn forty percent of the ship and the company would have to pay to bring her back to spec.”

Castle shook his head. He was no stranger to governmental and corporate conspiracies, given his many and varied wild theories over the years.

“Wanna bet?” Castle muttered, eliciting an eye-roll from Kate. “Be cheaper and easier for them to pay off the inspector.”

Though another of his ideas had been shot down, Banhov couldn't refute Castle’s logic, almost in awe of both the writer's active imagination and his devious mind. He was beginning to understand what Beckett saw in him. It was hard not to like the man.

“What’s wrong with the lights?” Kate stage whispered. “I may not be very familiar with this part of the ship, but I'm pretty sure illumination shouldn't be this low down here. I thought you guys fixed twelve module?”

“We did fix it,” Granger protested. “Trust me, I was the one down in the maintenance shaft for most of it.”

Banhov stepped aside to squint at the access panel near the door.

“Circuit breaker probably tripped locally after twelve module blew out,” he supplied. “MIRA would have cut power to non-critical systems when she came back online. It's hardwired so we don't overload the grid when power re-starts. She puts non-critical systems in standby mode then brings them back on gradually. Just gotta close the breaker and re-start manually. Wait one.”

Banhov opened the access panel, closed the breaker and pushed in the manual override. Almost immediately, the overhead lighting began to power up, causing the room to grow gradually brighter. After he closed the panel and took up his section of the net again, they moved deeper into the room, but Castle raised a hand, bringing them to a halt.

“Wait,” he said, as he took another reading.

“We close?” Banhov whispered, straining to see into the next dimply lit room as Castle checked the screen on the motion tracker.

“According to this, it’s within fifteen meters,” Castle replied.

The two engineers tightened their hold on the net without prompting as both Kate and Castle brought up their stun batons and turned them on. The married couple moved into the room and split off taking opposite sides of the room, their shock batons at the ready. Castle's eyes darted from the small screen, to Kate, to the point in the room indicated on the tracker, all four trying to make as little noise as possible. By silent agreement, the two engineers had positioned the net to cover the door so their unwanted guest couldn't get out, while they advanced to drive it back toward the door and into the net.

The closer to the signal contact the married partners went, the more cautious they became. Kate had dropped to a half crouch, ready to spring into action the instant any shadow in the room moved wrong. They came to a stop across from each other adjacent to the location of the contact.

Even in the dim light, it was clear that nothing cowered in the shadows in the spot indicated by the tracker. Castle slowly, quietly turned the tracker to get a new bearing and was rewarded with a blip on the screen a few meters away. He looked up at Kate and silently indicated a small maintenance locker with its door slightly askew near the back wall. Kate nodded her assent and motioned for Banhov and Granger to bring up the net and position it nearby.

When Banhov and Granger were set, and Kate had her shock baton at the ready, Castle took a deep breath, set the tracker on the floor and grasped the handle of the locker with his free hand. Raising his own prod, he depressed the button on its handle, slammed himself against the wall and jammed the metal tube inside the locker.

A squalling sound echoed loudly in the room as a small, orange creature exploded from the locker with bulging eyes and flashing claws. It hissed and spat, but landed neatly in the middle of the net. The frantic pair of engineers wrapped it in as many layers of the net as possible.

“We got him!” Banhov exclaimed triumphantly. “We got the little bastard, we…!”

Kate felt something was wrong as she looked down at the net with great surge of disappointment.

“Oh, damn it,” she muttered tiredly. “Relax, you two, take a look.”

Both engineers let go of the net, letting it fall to the deck when they saw what they’d caught. A very annoyed cat shot out of the entangling web then bolted, hissing and spitting back up the corridor before anyone could react.

“No,” she shouted an instant too late, as a flash of orange fur vanished out the door. “Don’t let Charlie get away.”

“You’re right,” Banhov replied. “We should wring the little bastard's neck before he confuses the tracker again.”

Kate glared sharply at him, but said nothing, then turned her attention to the less homicidal Granger.

“Go get him, Granger,” she ordered. “Try not to hurt him, but your partner is right, it would be a good idea to keep him penned up in his box so he can’t confuse the trackers again… or us. I'd hate to hurt him by mistake. The Captain would be heartbroken.”

“Right,” Granger whispered as he headed out into the corridor, then turned and trotted up the passageway where charlie had gone. Castle, Beckett and Banhov returned to their sweep, Castle doing his best to manage his shock tube and the tracker while taking up Granger's half of the net at the same time.

* * *

Granger looked up and down the corridor, but caught no sign of Charlie before slipping through an open door to the large equipment maintenance bay. He knew from his foray down here earlier to gather the materials for the shock tubes and nets that the loosely stocked chamber was full of ideal cat hiding places and was a logical place for Charlie to take refuge from his encounter with Castle's shock baton.

 _If I don't find Charlie in here_ , Granger thought to himself, _I'll go back and find the others. He'll come back up for air when he gets hungry._

Granger ignored the rows of stacked, sealed instrument pods labeled by their luminescent identification tags, the carelessly bundled containers of replacement modules and dirty tools, remnants of their repair job on the sub-light engines and twelve module. It suddenly occurred to him that the others were probably well out of earshot, making him jittery. The sooner he got his hands on Charlie and back to the others, the better he'd feel.

“Charlie…” he whispered, drawing out the syllables of his name, trying to sound reassuring. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come on, Charlie-boy. Come to your good buddy, Granger... here kitty, kitty.”

He bent to peer into a cat-sized space between two crates, but there was no sign of Charlie. He wiped the sweat from his brow and continued his search for the recalcitrant feline.

“Goddamn it, Charlie,” he muttered sweetly, “you little bastard, where the hell are you hiding?”

He heard a scratching sound from deeper in the bay, followed by a low but unmistakably feline yowl and sighed in relief as he moved toward the source of the cry, his shock baton at the ready... just in case.

* * *

Castle gazed tiredly at the tracker screen, but there was nothing within range. He waited for several pulses, but still nothing. At a glance from Kate he shook his head.

“That's it, we finished our sweep and nothing besides us and Charlie,” she stated.

“Let’s go back,” Banhov suggested. “The least we can do is help Granger find the fucking cat.”

“Don’t badmouth Charlie,” Kate snapped, automatically defending the cat. “He’s as frightened as the rest of us.”

They turned and headed back up the corridor. Castle kept the tracker on, just in case. If nothing else, it would help them find Charlie. He felt positively awful that he'd shocked the poor cat with his baton.

* * *

Granger worked his way around the stacks of equipment until he reached the struts and supports for the Nostromo's superstructure, which formed an intricate criss-cross of metal above him. He was about to give up his search when he heard Charlie yowl again. He peered around a metal pylon, and saw two small, greenish-yellow eyes shining back at him in the dark.

Another meow made him feel a little better. Charlie and their quarry may have been about the same size, but only a tomcat would produce a noise like that. He moved closer, bent to clear a beam and was met with the familiar sight of Charlie's fur and whiskers.

“There you are…” Granger muttered, relieved. “Nice to see you, you furry little bastard.”

He reached for Charlie, but the cat hissed threateningly and cringed, backing deeper into his hiding place.

“Come on, Charlie-boy,” Granger whispered. “Come to your good buddy Granger, there's no time to fool around.”

Granger did not see the long-fingered hand, with six inch claws that reached downward toward him, the arm attached to it nearly the width of the beam he'd passed under. The massive, seven foot tall creature unfolded itself from the beams above Granger's head without so much as a whisper of sound, its muscular body rippling with tremendous power held in check.

Granger neither saw nor heard the creature's movements until the powerful hand wrapped completely around his neck and the fingers crossed over themselves at his throat.

Granger shrieked, both hands dropping everything to snap reflexively to his neck. He clawed and scratched at the fingers around his throat, but to no avail. A single twitch of the thing's heavily muscled wrist snapped his neck, his legs twitching in empty air as the creature effortlessly drew him up into the crossbeams with it.

* * *

Charlie bolted from his hiding place and shot past Castle, Beckett and Banhov as they plunged into the equipment bay at Granger's strangled cry, arriving just in time to see the thing's tail twitch in the air as it hauled Granger's body away, his still-twitching legs dragged behind.

Staring up into the dark recesses of the ceiling, they had a last brief glimpse of dangling feet and twisting torso being dragged upward. Above Granger's twisting body was the faint outline of something large and bipedal, but definitely not a man. A black-tinged creature both huge and malevolent, barely visible in the shadows, followed by a split-second beam of light reflecting off its huge, domed head before both alien and engineer vanished into the upper reaches of the Nostromo's hull braces.

“Pakhshalsta!” Banhov muttered, followed by incomprehensible curse words in his native Russian. “It grew.”

Kate looked blankly down at the shock baton in her hands, then back up into the support struts where the massive creature had gone, casting a baleful look at her husband, her eyes bulging in terror.

“It grew fast,” she muttered. “While we were busy hunting something Charlie’s size, it grew... into that.”

Kate suddenly grew hyper-aware of where they were standing, the shadows, massive crates, even the walls pressing tight around them. The support struts for Nostromo's hull loomed above, dark places where a creature that size might hide. She could feel the first stirrings of a panic attack begin to surge within her.

“What are we still doing here?” Castle exclaimed, his voice shocking Kate back to reality, like ice water down her spine. “That thing might come back.”

Kate hefted her shock baton, fully aware of how useless it was against a creature that size. As one person, they turned and ran from the bay, Granger's last strangled scream still echoing in their minds as they fled.

Banhov paused in the hatchway to look back. He had known Granger for a long time. They had worked together and been partners longer than Castle had known Beckett. Granger had met his end in that room, alone in the dark with no chance of rescue, left to the tender mercies of that... thing.

The dark pit in his soul that Granger had helped him keep at bay for the better part of a decade welled up within him. He swore to himself that when he saw that creature again, there would be a reckoning if it was the last thing he ever did. Curses he had not heard outside of the stories in his great grandmother's kitchen rose from the darkest depths of his soul. He whispered them into the darkness before sealing the hatch closed.

The thing that had killed his partner had become a focus for all of his hate and for one shot at it, he would gladly let the looming darkness festering within take him.


	13. Tipping Point

**Chapter Thirteen**   
**Tipping Point**

* * *

_Beckett: I know that you want this to be science fiction, but we are not in space._  
 _Castle: No, but wouldn’t you like to be?_  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Any confidence the crew had managed to build up when they set out after the creature was now gone as the remaining crew retreated to the bridge. The score was now Alien parasite: two, Nostromo crew: zero and they knew it. Nobody who had been in that cargo hold had come back unaffected, not even Beckett, who usually had a much better poker face. Kim could read the trauma of the incident clearly on the faces of those who had witnessed the attack. Even she had been taken aback by the turn of events that had unfolded.

They had been prepared for almost any defense the creature they thought they had been facing might have put up. They had not been prepared for it to have quadrupled in size, or prove to be intelligent enough to use the smallest of their number - namely Charlie - as bait to turn the tables on them. It was clear to all of them that the creature was now hunting them, not the other way around, stalking them like prey in a canned hunt.

Of all of them, the one who seemed the most distraught was Beckett. She'd sent Granger into the maintenance bay alone after Charlie while she and the rest of her team had continued the search and she was taking it hard. Kim didn't know how Castle did it, setting aside his own trauma to tend to his wife, whispering quiet, unintelligible consoling words into Beckett's hair as he held her close in his lap.

The writer was obviously made of much sterner stuff than anyone - including Elise Kim - thought.

Unpredictably, it was Banhov who seemed to be the most motivated to continue the hunt, a tightly coiled spring ready to explode and the only person capable of steadying him down was their latest casualty. She knew that the friendship between the two engineers had been beyond blood, beyond family, and now Banhov was cast adrift, his rage the only thing giving him focus.

Kim had shipped with Banhov and Granger for years and she had never seen this side of him before. She knew she would have to be on the lookout for dangerous behavior. Angry and motivated was one thing, but Banhov appeared to be on the verge of a psychotic break.

* * *

Kim had a 3-D schematic of the Nostromo up on the map table with Banhov hovering near the door, his eyes constantly scanning the open door to the main corridor, sweeping the area around him.

“Whatever it was,” Banhov muttered, “it was big. Swung down on him like a giant fucking bat.”

Kim turned from the map table and it's three dimensional wire-frame diagram of the ship and looked him up and down.

“You’re absolutely sure it dragged Granger into a vent,” she stated. It was not a question.

“It disappeared into the cross-members of the hold's superstructure,” Kate replied, her voice devoid of emotion, eyes dead, clinging to Castle's jacket with both hands as if afraid he'd disappear. “The cooling ducts and air circulation vents are the only place for it to go up there.”

“No two ways about it,” Banhov added, his voice a dark, malevolent thing in the muted bridge.“It has to be using the air shafts to move around. That’s why it never showed up on the tracker.”

“Makes sense,” Kim replied. “Charlie does the same thing when he's feeling antisocial.”

Kim's mind went back to when she had brought Charlie back aboard just after he'd been neutered. Though there had been little chance of him siring kittens out in the black, he'd started marking his territory everywhere and it had to be done for both sanitary and ship safety reasons. No sooner had the anesthetic worn off, he'd disappeared into the vents for days during a short run to deliver supplies to the Charon observatory near Pluto. Her only indication that he hadn't been spaced had been the food disappearing from his dish at regular intervals.

Olivera stirred her coffee idly without drinking it. She'd only grabbed the company swill out of habit, but it was comforting in its warmth - the only comfort she could find in the whole situation they were in.

“Granger could still be alive,” she whispered.

“Not a chance,” Kate muttered dully. “It snapped his neck... and... dragged him off like a rag doll.”

“What does it want him for, anyway?” Olivera asked as she put down her coffee. “Why take him after killing him on the spot?”

“Food,” Castle whispered darkly, the first words he'd spoken aloud since the incident. He'd been strangely quiet this whole time and his simple statement caused Kate to shiver involuntarily.

“Whatever the reason,” Olivera added, “it’s two down and five to go from the alien’s standpoint. What the hell do we do now?”

Banhov turned his shock tube over and over in his hands, then spun around and threw it as hard as he could against the wall by the doorway. It bounced off the wall, bending the casing. It tumbled across the floor and crackled a couple of times before coming to rest near the captain's chair.

“I say we blast the fucker with pulse rifle fire and take our chances!” he shouted angrily.

“I feel for you, Banhov, I've been there,” Kim replied. “I know the two of you were close, but we have to keep our heads. If that thing's as big as you say, it could be holding enough acid to eat a hole in the hull the size of this room. I want this thing dead as much as you do, but we have to fight smart.”

“How many of us have to die before you can see that’s the only way to handle that thing?” Banhov hissed, and Kim recoiled as if she'd been slapped. He'd hit her one insecurity without realizing it, silencing her as the guilt she carried washed over her like a wave.

“It wouldn’t work, Banhov,” Ash, interjected, distracting everyone from Kim's internal struggle.

“What do you mean?” Banhov asked, his tone menacing as he turned his ire on the science officer.

“You’d have to hit a vital organ with your first shot," Ash replied, “and if - by some miracle - we were able to bring it down, it would still have bled enough acid all over the place to breach the hull and the ship either tears itself apart, or we're left drifting in space with no hope of rescue.”

Banhov glared at Ash, then lowered his eyes sullenly to the floor.

“Then what the hell are we going to do?” he mumbled quietly.

“The only plan where we stand even a chance of success is the one we had before,” Kim replied, tapping the map table's schematic. “We figure out which shaft it’s in, drive it out into the airlock and blast it into space.”

“Drive it?” Banhov scoffed, nodding at his bent shock baton. “That son-of-a-bitch is huge. We aren’t driving that thing anywhere with those.”

“He has a point,” Olivera added. “How do we drive something that big to the lock?”

“I don’t want to screw around with this thing,” Banhov stated, his whole countenance alive with spite, “When that bastard goes out the lock, I want to watch it die... I want to hear it scream like Granger.”

"Well, we certainly need something more effective to drive it,” Kim stated, retaking control of the discussion. “Something that can really hurt it, that can kill it if we have to.”

“Give me twenty minutes and I can cobble together four incineration units,” Banhov replied. “The basic units are already in storage, it’s just a matter of modifying them for hand-held use.”

“How powerful can you make them?” Kim asked. “I want to be able to put the bastard down hard if it comes to that.”

“Don’t worry,” Banhov replied coldly. “I’ll tweak the nozzles so they cook anything they touch for ten meters. We'll fry him before he has a chance to bleed.”

“Okay,” Kim stated flatly as she pushed away from the table and rose, still hurt from Banhov's insensitive comment earlier. “When Banhov has the flame-throwers ready, we start with the bay where it took Granger and try to track it from there.”

“It took him up into the hull bracing before it entered the air shaft,” Banhov interjected. “Be hell trying to follow it up there.”

“Would you rather sit and wait for it to come looking for us?” Kim asked. “The sooner we put that thing back on the defensive, the better it’ll be for us.”

“There's one problem with that theory,” Kate stated. She'd had plenty of practice poking holes in wild theories over the years and this one was no less suspect than some of her husband's had been.

“What’s that?” Kim asked,

“Has that thing _ever_ been on the defensive?” Castle asked, finishing the thought for her.

* * *

Half and hour later, they gathered once more in the galley to trade in their shock tubes for the flame units Banhov had adapted for their use. They were not quite as elegant as the ones Kim had employed in the Colonial Marines, but the one Kim held cradled in her arms felt like a real weapon, which appealed to her in a way the shock batons were not. It made her feel much better to be going up against that thing with something that could actually do damage. There would be no more screwing around with less-than-lethal, if the creature got close enough, she could reach out and touch the bastard with cleansing fire and kill it once and for all.

It felt good to have a plan B.

As there was only enough materials to make four of the flame-throwers, it was decided that Ash and Olivera would handle the trackers, while the other four handled the weapons - an arrangement that both Kim and Beckett were more than okay with since neither of them were prepared to trust Ash with a weapon and Olivera's hands seemed to be shaking too much, which was cause for concern.

The group had no sooner reached the landing for _“B”_ deck, when both trackers began beeping and flashing. Ash and Olivera quickly muted their devices as the group moved closer. When they stepped into the corridor, a loud screeching sound could be plainly heard. It was clear that this wasn't Charlie, but the distinctive scream of rending metal.

 “Easy,” Kim whispered, her hand moving upward with her fist clenched almost of its own accord. She had to stop herself from bringing her arm down to signal a crouch as she led with her flame-thrower and peered around the corner. She was in full combat mode now, all senses on alert for the slightest sound or movement, her footfalls smooth and silent in the corridor.

The loud rending noises became clearer and more distinct as she slowly rounded the corner, her finger not yet inside the trigger guard of her weapon.

“It's in the food locker,” she whispered back to them.

“Listen to all that noise,” Olivera breathed, trying to be as quiet as possible, “Pendejo must be big.”

“He's big, all right,” Banhov replied just as quietly. “Strong, too. Carted Granger off one-handed like a…” He trailed off, the last images of his only friend choking him up too much for him to speak further.

“Air duct vent in the back of the locker,” Kim whispered, pointing at the door with the nozzle of her flame-thrower. “That’s how it got in.”

Kim pointed at Ash and Olivera, silently motioning for the two of them to stay back, both were unarmed and needed no further convincing. Kim motioned Banhov to one side of the door and again for Beckett and Castle to stack up behind her. The last thing she needed was for Banhov to get trigger-happy during what would have to be a very dynamic entry.

When they were positioned just outside the door, their movements covered by the sounds of rending metal from within the locker, Kim locked eyes with Banhov and nodded at the door handle. The engineer lowered his flame-thrower and griped the heavy handle to the locker.

Kim raised three fingers on her hand, then two, then one.

“Now!” she shouted. Banhov wrenched open the door and jumped back out of the way. Kim burst through the door, weapon first, pulled the trigger on her flame-thrower and a burst of orange flame burst from the nozzle into the entrance to the food locker. The intense heat pushed everyone back, but Kim pushed ahead again quickly, ignoring the heat to unleash a second blast into the small space, followed by a third as she swept her flame-thrower in a wide arc to paint every corner with flame.

When the heat finally receded enough to enter, it was clear that the food storage locker was a total loss. What the alien hadn't torn apart, Kim’s flame-thrower had burned and melted beyond recognition. The smell of charred artificial-food components, melted packaging and scorched plastic filled the room.

Ample evidence of the alien’s handiwork still lay scattered about, in spite of the flames. Solid metal storage bins had been torn from the walls and rent open like corn husks. Shredded food packages of every type lay scattered about the floor like confetti as they poked through the debris.

Unfortunately, their sweep of the room failed to produce what they most wanted to see.

“We didn’t get it,” Kate muttered.

“Then where the hell did it go?” Olivera asked sharply from the doorway.

“Look, over here,” Kim said, standing near the back of the room behind a pile of melted storage bins, pointing her flame-thrower at the wall. “This is where it went.”

The rest of the group moved closer to where Kim was standing, her pointing at the open vent. The protective grille that normally covered it lay on the floor, bent and twisted beyond recognition.

Kim lowered her weapon, took out her light-bar and directed the beam into the shaft, revealing only smooth metal twisting off into the distance.

“Gotcha you son of a bitch,” she muttered, then turned back to the group. “About time we got a break.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Olivera asked. “The damn thing got away!”

“Don’t you see how well this works out for us?” Kim asked rhetorically, pointing at the ruptured grille. “This duct terminates within sight of the main airlock with only one opening large enough for the creature to get out between here and there! Once we cover that that we can either kill it if it emerges there or drive it straight through with the flame-throwers, into the lock then blast it into space.”

“Right,” Olivera commented sarcastically, not realizing she was parroting Granger, though her lack of enthusiasm was clear. “Nothing to it. Somebody just has to crawl in after it, hope it doesn't double back on them and pray it’s afraid of fire.”

“It’s the best chance we've had to kill it to date,” Kim replied, steel in her words, long past time she asserted her authority and put an end to Olivera's constant nay-saying, which she was finding increasingly tedious. “If we play our cards right, we won’t have to back it into the open and hope we can kill it without doing structural damage. It can retreat all it wants… right into the lock.”

“That’s all fine and good,” Olivera replied, “but who's going in after it?”

“I’ll go,” Kate said, hefting her flame-thrower, shrugging Castle's hand from her shoulder. Kim figured she'd volunteer sooner or later. She was made of sterner stuff than most of the crew gave her credit for too. It was clear that her husband, however was not happy with her choice.

“The hell you say,” Banhov growled, “if anyone's going after that bastard it's me.”

Banhov stepping forward wasn't much of a surprise to Kim either. He'd been closer to Granger than all of them combined, he was certainly motivated, but she couldn't let either of them volunteer. The question of whom to sacrifice on her crew to save the others was a decision she'd never wanted to have to make again. She found herself unable to make that decision now.

It was why she'd left the Corps, why she'd known she could never lead men and women into combat again, why she'd taken a job as far from warfare as she could possibly get. She couldn't put somebody else in danger to save herself.

Whom did she send out to die next? For her, there was only one answer, only one person she could choose and be able to look herself in the eye in the mirror again. The only way she could atone for the ones she'd failed to bring home.

“Forget it,” she said, with steel in her spine. “Neither one of you are going. I am.”

“Why?” Kate asked with fire in her eyes.

“My decision, my ship, my responsibility,” Kim explained tersely at Kate's mixture of resentment and confusion. Kate didn’t understand why she’d turned her down, when all Kim had to do was look over her shoulder at the man standing behind her, the man she'd likely be sending to his death right along with her, because she knew he would disobey any order she gave him not to follow her. She couldn't help but respect the man's unwillingness to leave his wife to face danger alone.

Elise Kim was the Captain of this ship. The one luxury she had was that she did not have to explain herself to any of them.

“Beckett, you and Castle get down to the airlock and get it ready,” Kim directed, the command in her tone as she taped the light-bar to the hand-grip of her flame-thrower, making it clear she was not to be defied, “Ash, will cover this end with his tracker in case it finds a way to double back on me. Banhov and Olivera will cover the other exit from the ventilation system.”

Before Banhov could offer an objection of his own, Kim silenced him with a glare.

“Banhov, I'm counting on you to cover that opening. If that bastard comes out, I'm sure you'll know what to do.”

“Yeah, I do,” Banhov replied, hefting his flame-thrower, “burn the bastard to ashes for what it did to Granger.”

With that, Olivera's question about whom would be crawling through the ducts after the creature to drive it to the airlock was answered conclusively. Kim would not be dissuaded.

 _If I don't make it, Beckett will see to the safety of the crew_ , Kim assured herself, _she will get them safely home. Semper Fi._

* * *

Castle and Beckett reached the controls for the airlock, and a careful glance at their tracker showed no movement in the area. Kate entered her access code and thumbed the switch. A soft hum and a hiss filled the corridor as the lock cycled and the heavy airlock hatch popped out of its housing and moved aside. When the door yawned fully open, Castle thumbed the nearby comm panel.

“Main airlock open and ready.”

* * *

Banhov and Olivera reached the juncture - located in the back of an equipment storage room - the only other vent large enough to admit the creature. The grille for the vent opening was intact, looking almost as pristine as the day the ship had first launched, about three quarters of the way up the wall.

“That’s where it’ll come out if it figures out what we're doing and doesn't wish to be spaced,” Banhov muttered darkly, almost hoping it would appear. His mind's eye conjuring fantasies of the thing half out of the vent bathed in fire from his flame-thrower, screaming as he cooked it alive.

Olivera nodded in assent, the nearly homicidal gleam in Banhov's eyes and the way he cradled the flame-thrower in his hands unnerving her more than a little as she sealed the door and moved to the nearby comm pickup to report that they were in position. She would take great pains to stay behind him, because she was pretty sure he wouldn't care if she got caught in the crossfire if it did come this way.

“Second access vent covered,” she whispered into the pickup.

* * *

Kim listened intently as first Castle, then Olivera checked in that they were on station as she slipped on the heavy gloves and knee pads he had found for her to get around with once she started using the flame-thrower in the vent, then carefully climbed inside. Once she had adjusted herself inside the vent, Ash passed over her flame-thrower. She adjusted the nozzle to narrow the jet of flame to a more manageable level and fired a couple of quick, short test bursts ahead of her into the duct.

“Something bothering you, Ash?” Kim asked, not missing the look he gave her.

“This has nothing to do with science,” Ash replied.

“This is no time to hedge,” Kim challenged. “Out with it.”

“Why do you have to be the one to go?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Why didn’t you let Beckett go? She's willing, and competent enough. Or Banhov, who was clearly motivated.”

“I wasn't seriously contemplating sending anyone but myself this time,” Kim stated flatly as she checked the fuel level on her flame-thrower. “I sent Richwood down into that shaft and now he's dead. Granger went off by himself to find my cat, and now he's dead. I'm not sending anyone else to die in my place, not on my watch.”

“Captain, you followed acceptable procedure sending Richwood into that shaft,” Ash argued, and chasing down Charlie was the right call at the time, he was confusing the motion trackers.”

“You’re hardly one to talk about following procedure,” Kim quipped, unable to keep the smile from her face at catching Ash in a contradiction. “You're the one who opened the lock and let us back aboard with it, remember? So don’t even try to lecture me on what's proper.”

“It would be a major blow to morale to lose you, too,” Ash replied. “Especially now that we need leadership the most.”

“You yourself just mentioned that Beckett was competent. I concur. If I don’t make it back, she'll get it done.”

“I don’t agree,” Ash began, but Kim cut him off.

“Tough shit, Ash,” Kim hissed. “I've made my decision, get with the program.”

With that said, she turned away from the grille and began to half crawl half slide through the narrow confines of the duct. Kim was smaller than Beckett even without the heels she wore. She was amazed that a creature the size Castle had described could have squirmed through the tiny crawlspace at any rate of speed. Good! She thought wickedly to herself. Let the fucker get itself wedged in good and tight. So much the better.

“How's it going?” Ash asked over her headset.

“It's a little tight," she replied, struggling to move forward on the bare metal surface, thankful for the added grip from the knee-pads. “It’s just wide enough to be only mildly claustrophobic.”

She flipped on the directional light on her light-bar, bathing the empty shaft ahead of her in light. She knew the slight downward decline of the shaft would increase and turn inward the further she went.  
From what little she knew of the air duct system, this one would have to descend another full deck level before it dead-ended outside the main airlock.

“Banhov, Beckett, I’m starting down the duct now,” she whispered into her headset.

“We read you.” Olivera whispered into the comm panel, “I’ll let you know when you come within range of our tracker.”

Next to her, Banhov hefted his flame-thrower and glared at the grille covering the duct.

“Banhov, don't be a hero,” Kim ordered, “if it tries to come through your vent, drive it back in so I can push it toward the airlock.”

“Right,” Banhov responded, but his tone did not fill her with confidence that her order would be obeyed.

“Castle and I are ready by the lock,” Kate reported. “My parlor is open and waiting for company.”

“Company's coming, our gentleman caller's out-stayed his welcome and needs to be shown the door.” Kim replied as she started crawling, eyes intent on the shaft ahead, her finger on the trigger guard of her incinerator. The shaft was only a meter wide and it's confines were not doing good things for her blood pressure. She regulated her breathing the way the Marine Corps trained her to, but anyone who ever said they weren't afraid before going into battle were either liars or sociopaths, neither of whom could be trusted in combat. This creature was clearly the stuff of nightmares.

“How you doing in there?” Ash asked over her headset.

“Five by five, Ash,” Kim replied. “Keep your eyes on that damned tracker, I don't want our unwanted guest to slip around behind me.”

When Kim came to the first bend in the shaft, she struggled to recall the layout of the ship's ventilation system. The 3-D schematic she'd been looking over on the bridge was complex and indistinct in her memory and there were simply far too many ventilation ducts to memorize them all. That she could recall where it started and ended was nothing short of amazing.

Though she couldn't see or hear anything to tell her that the creature lay around the corner, she knew that it was better to be safe than sorry. She took a deep breath, held it and pulled the trigger on her flame-thrower, sending a jet of flame flashing down the tunnel with a roar in the confined space. A wave of heat rushed back to her as she started around the corner, thankful for the protection of the gloves and the knee-pads she was wearing.

* * *

In the equipment storage room, Olivera studied the grille covering the vent, the only thing between them and the creature should it come this way. She snapped her head in Banhov's direction, when it slid out of sight with a low hum, leaving a wide opening in the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?” Olivera rasped at him. “Are you crazy?”

“If you think a ventilation grille is gonna do more than slow that bastard down, you're sadly mistaken,” Banhov replied coldly. “At least if it's open, I'll have a clear shot at it before it can unfold itself from the vent.

Olivera was quiet after that, cowed by the coldness of Banhov's eyes.

* * *

Sweating profusely, Kim continued moving down the shaft. Though she had been expecting the sharper downturn in the shaft, it still took her a little by surprise when she reached it. She knew she'd have to be careful how fast she moved when she started down, lest she slide uncontrollably to the bottom of the decline. The possibility of the creature waiting claws out at the bottom was not a welcome thought.

Easing herself to the drop, she pointed the flame-thrower down the shaft and let loose another blast before starting her descent. She figured the creature must still be a good distance ahead of her, at least outside of the effective range of her flame-thrower. Though it made her feel better to think of it fleeing ahead of the fire she was dispensing, she could not discount the possibility that it was lying in wait to ambush her. It was tactically unwise to underestimate this thing.

Kim shrugged her shoulders slightly and started down the shaft head first, the nozzle of her flame-thrower pointed forward down the shaft, her finger on the trigger. _If it is waiting for me down there_ , she thought, _then it's in for a nasty surprise. **Oooo Rah!**_

* * *

When Olivera's tracker first detected movement heading their way, her heart fluttered until she did some calculations in her head and figured out it was actually the captain moving in their direction.

“Picking you up on my tracker, Captain,” she reported into the comm panel.

“Acknowledged,” Kim replied.

* * *

All of a sudden, the shaft made an unexpected sharp turn. Captain Kim didn’t recall from her perusal of the Nostromo's schematics that there were this many sharp bends in the duct system. She was positive she was still moving down the main shaft.

In all of the twists and turns, she hadn't passed a duct or split in the shaft large enough to admit anything bigger than Charlie. Though it may have been small enough early on to navigate the smaller ducts that her cat favored, she didn't think the creature could reduce it's bulk to fit into the smaller air shafts. The sharp corners of the ducts were hard enough for her to negotiate, much less a creature a foot taller and bulkier than Castle.

The long, inflexible barrel of the flame-thrower wasn't making her progress any easier. She stopped moving forward and rested for a moment. This was the most physical exertion she'd experienced in years and it was beginning to take its toll.

* * *

Kate was so focused on watching the duct that Kim's voice over the comm made her jump in surprise.

“Beckett, you there?” Kate jerked at the sharp tone of Kim's voice in the comm pickup.

“I’m here, Captain,” Kate replied, unable to keep the shakiness from her voice. “Castle and I can hear you loud and clear.”

“Is something wrong, Captain?” Castle asked, “You sound…” a glance from Kate cut him short.

“I'm fine,” Kim replied, “Just winded. I'm out of shape. A year in hyper-sleep costs you muscle tone and stamina, regardless of what the manuals say. It doesn't help that using this damn flame-thrower is screwing with the thermostats so it's getting hot in here.”

“Understood,” Kate replied, “we'll be ready for our guest when it puts in an appearance.”

“Continuing on now,” Kim stated, “Stay frosty.”

* * *

Kim's relief when the cramped tunnel leveled off and suddenly widened, then a few meters later opened into one of the Nostromo's primary air ducts. A two-tiered tunnel larger enough for her to stand in, split by a maintenance catwalk. After wriggling out of the shaft, she rose to her feet and stretched her cramped arms and legs, grateful for the respite.

An onlooker would have mistaken her actions for letting down her guard, but her head was on a swivel, her eyes taking in the entire maintenance catwalk. She swept the entire area, but saw only the metallic surface of the duct and heard only the constant whir and throb of the cooling apparatus that kept the ship's internal temperature at a comfortable constant.

As far as she could see, the huge chamber was empty.

Seeing as there was no place for a creature that size to hide while she stood in the middle of the walkway, it was as good a place as any to take five as long as she was vigilant.

“Olivera,” she said over her headset, "I’m near one of the central mixing chamber repair stations, you have a read on anything in here but me?”

* * *

The navigator checked her tracker, suddenly puzzled. She cast a worried glance at Banhov, then turned the device in her hand so he could see the screen.

“Can you make any sense out of this?” she asked, not sure she liked what she was seeing.

“Not really,” Banhov replied, “but it seems strange.”

“Olivera?” Kim asked again to get her attention.

“I'm here, Captain,” Olivera replied as she jiggled and tapped the screen of the tracker. “I'm getting some kind of weird double signal.”

“What do you mean?” Kim asked. “Are you getting two separate readings for me?”

“No,” Olivera replied. “Just a single impossible one.”

“Air density is in a bit of flux in here,” Kim replied. “Given what that thing is set to read it could be interference. I'll move to the other side of the catwalk, let me know if that clears things up.”

* * *

Kim turned and started for the other side of the catwalk without noticing the massive, clawed hand rising slowly from the underside of the catwalk behind her, the groping claws missing her left foot by less than a centimeter as she walked back the way she'd come. It slipped back under the walkway without a whisper of sound. When Kim reached the other side of the catwalk, she stopped, oblivious to her close call.

“That better, Olivera? Am I registering any clearer now?’

“It's clearer, all right,” Olivera said, the timbre of her voice going up half an octave, "a distinct second signal, ten meters back from your position!”

Kim whipped around, bringing her weapon up, her head back on a swivel, her eyes searching everywhere around her, then back to the repair junction, her gaze settling on the spot where she’d been sitting just seconds ago. As she lowered the nose of the flame-thrower, her finger began to tense on the incinerator’s trigger.

She didn't see the creature swing up noiselessly onto the catwalk behind her, claws outstretched...

“Get out of there Captain, it's right behind you,” Olivera screamed. “Get out now!”

* * *

After Kate Beckett heard Olivera's warning over the comm panel near the open airlock, she heard a curious ringing sound coming from the air vent. It grew louder, as she neared the vent and her grip on her flame-thrower tightened. Just as suddenly, the strange ringing ceased. Against her better judgment, she slipped closer to the vent, careful to keep the nozzle of the improvised weapon focused on it.

When she cleared the distance from the comm panel to the vent, she heard a single blood curdling scream come out of it, which just as suddenly died away.

“Kim!” Kate cried out. “Captain Kim?!!”

The only response to Kate's call was a soft, far-off thumping sound echo through the ventilation duct, which rapidly faded away.

“Olivera!” Kate cried out into the comm panel. “Banhov, Ash, somebody... report!”

“Beckett, it's Olivera,” the navigator's shaky voice answered over the comm, “what’s going on? I just lost the captain's signal.”

Kate opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Try as she might, she couldn't get any more words out.

It was Castle who finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with horror.

“I... I think we just lost the Captain.”


	14. Betrayal

**Chapter Fourteen**  
**Betrayal**

* * *

_Beckett: Are we seriously about to interrogate a computer?_  
_MIRA: Detective, the word interrogate implies you believe I’m guilty of something._  
_Of what do you think I am guilty?_  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Four dejected people shuffled into the Nostromo's once cramped bridge, devoid of the confidence that had been abundant when they'd left not even two hours before. The extra elbow room - which each of them had bemoaned the lack of at one time or another - made all of them feel self conscious, two empty seats conspicuous with their lack of occupants.

A few scant minutes later, the door slid open, admitting Mikhail Banhov bearing a second flamethrower in his arms, which he dumped into the captain's empty chair, a small spatter of blood above the pistol grip and the light-bar affixed to its casing - a modification clearly made by their captain - the only evidence of who had last carried it.

Kate stepped up to the Captain's chair, Castle right behind her, a reassuring hand at her back as she brushed the fingers of her right hand over the weapon, taking in the blood spatter on its surface before she cast a mournful glance at Banhov.

“Where did you find it?” she asked, when she could trust her voice not to shake, thankful for her husband's reassuring presence.

“On the floor of the mixing chamber, right below the walkway,” Banhov muttered dully. “No sign of her. No significant blood trail. Nothing. I don't think she even got off a burst before it got her.”

“And the alien?” Castle asked, when Kate couldn't seem to find the words.

“Nothing,” Banhov replied. “Only sign of it was the hole it tore through the vent leading out into the central cooling complex. I didn’t think anything was that strong.”

“None of us did,” Kate muttered darkly, barely able to reconcile this creature with her neat, orderly, logical world. “We’ve been two steps behind this thing since we first brought the hand-stage aboard. That’s got to change. From now on, we assume it’s capable of anything, even invisibility.”

“No known creature is completely invisible,” Ash insisted. Kate leveled a death glare back at him.

“No known creature can peel back three centimeter thick heat-shielded vent plating, either,” Castle shot back at him.

Ash opened his mouth to say something but Rick silenced him with a glare of his own before he continued. “It’s about time we all stop underestimating what we’re up against.” When Castle finished speaking, the bridge fell silent but for the whirring of fans and the chirping of consoles for an agonizingly long several minutes.

“Beckett, guess this puts you in command,” Banhov muttered, looking her right in the eye, “Congratulations.”

“Okay,” Kate replied. For the first time since she'd met the senior engineer, his sarcastic tone was gone along with his defiant posture. The Mikhail Banhov that all of them thought they'd known had been stripped away since Granger died.

Everyone on the bridge - with the exception of Ash - looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to tell them what to do, for her to have some answer the rest of them lacked. Only Castle knew her well enough to know she was still trying to process the last few hours like the rest of them.

Castle loved his wife dearly, but he knew from painful past experience that Kate Beckett really only knew two ways to function in situations like this. The first was to go on the attack, take the fight right down the enemy's throat, mindless of the consequences, and hope for the best. The second was to disengage completely and run away. Neither were entirely applicable to the situation they found themselves in.

They needed the ship to survive. It was the only way for them to get home safely so there was no realistic way for them to escape a creature that could tear through deck plates. The resources aboard the Narcissus were rudimentary at best. It had only one freezer, no stellar drive and only limited atmosphere processing.

They couldn't go balls to the wall against it either - provided they could find it - without getting everyone killed in the process. Even if they won, they risked destroying the ship anyway. Their ability to fight the creature was effectively hamstrung, which afforded the creature even more of an advantage than nature had already given it.

Kate had no idea how Captain Kim had been able to hold it together as long as she had.

“We're out of options, really,” Kate stated, trying to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. “Unless someone’s got a better idea, we proceed with the same plan as before.”

“And wind up just like the Captain?” Olivera spat. “No, thanks.”

“If you’ve got a better idea,” Kate shot back, sick of her negative attitude, “let's hear it.”

“Hell yes, I do,” Olivera snapped at her. “We abandon ship, take the Narcissus and just bug out. Take our chances on making Earth orbit and getting picked up. Once we get back into the regular space lanes, someone’s bound to hear our distress signal.”

“Captain Kim might not be dead,” Ash said softly, “from Banhov's account there wasn't nearly enough blood where her flamethrower was found. We can’t abandon ship until we’re sure.”

Olivera opened her mouth to say something, but was silenced by a glare from Kate. It was clear that Kate was not prepared to surrender the ship to the alien without a fight, nor was she prepared to abandon the captain - not if there was a chance she was still alive. It simply wasn't in her nature.

“I hate to admit it, but Ash is right,” Kate agreed. “We owe it to the Captain to at least try. This time we start on “A” deck, go room by room, level by level, and seal every bulkhead behind us until either we corner it, or it comes to us.”

“Works for me," Banhov replied. He had no intention of running in either case. He'd stay alone if it came down to it.

“What about our weapons?” Kate asked, holding hers out to Banhov to inspect.

“Lines and nozzles are still clean,” Banhov remarked when he finished looking over all of the flamethrowers. “They are a-ok, but I'll need to refill that one.” The engineer nodded toward Kim’s incinerator still laying in the Captain's chair. “The Captain used quite a bit of it.”

“Get it refueled and get back here ASAP,” Kate ordered. “Take Ash with you.”

Banhov looked Ash up and down, his expression unreadable.

“I can manage,” he muttered, before he slung the captain's flamethrower over one shoulder by the carry strap, hefted his own and stalked away without another word. His lack of trust in the science officer was left behind as an almost palpable presence long after his footfalls stopped echoing in the corridor.

“Ash, any other fresh ideas, suggestions, hints?” Kate asked, her eyes boring into Ash. “From you or from MIRA?”

Ash shrugged, almost apologetic. “Nothing we don't already know, I'm afraid. MIRA is still processing data.”

If looks could kill, Kate's glare would have reduced Ash to a scorch mark on the deck.

“That is unacceptable,” Kate barked.

“This is not simply some feral animal we’re dealing with,” Ash replied. “Like you said, it might be capable of anything. Not only is it fast, powerful and cunning, it's obviously sentient with high intelligence and an uncanny capacity to learn.”

Ash turned, making sure everyone was paying attention, even as Castle straightened to his full height, his posture one of outrage that Ash would seek to undermine Kate in front of everyone.

“In less than forty-eight hours,” Ash continued, “it has found the means to navigate the ship virtually undetected and killed two of us with near impunity - the second time after we knew how big it was. It even used Charlie as bait to lead one of us into a trap. This is clearly a predator the likes of which humankind has never encountered before. It's little wonder all of our efforts to track it down have met with failure.”

“You sound like you’re ready to give up,” Kate shot back.

“I am only stating the glaringly obvious,” Ash replied.

“You’re telling me,” Kate replied, “that with all of the resources at our disposal, we are inadequate to cope with this thing?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Ash replied, his use of Kate's new title not lost on anyone, “but that is where we stand as I see it. For all of our technical prowess, we are simply at a loss to deal with this thing, given our current restrictions. Wanting the situation to be otherwise will not alter the facts.”

“Your evaluation of our chances does not inspire confidence,” Kate replied.

“What exactly do you want me to do, Captain?” Ash asked.

“Go back to MIRA,” Kate ordered, “keep asking questions until you get some better answers.’

“I don’t know what you're expecting me to find,” Ash said. “MIRA is not programmed to hide information.”

“Then try asking different questions,” Kate suggested aggressively. “It worked on the alien signal.”

“I remember,” Ash conceded, his respect for her growing exponentially. “It's worth a try, I guess.”

After Ash turned and left, Kate sat down next to a clearly deflated Olivera.

“Hang in there, Angela,” Kim said softly, “the Captain would never have allowed us to abandon ship without being absolutely sure we wouldn't leave anyone behind.”

“She also would never have asked us to stay and get picked off one by one,” Olivera whispered, “she would have ordered us to go.”

“Angela, I swear to you on my mother's grave,” Kate whispered, her voice choking with emotion at the very mention of her mother, “if this doesn't work out, or it gets too hairy, I won't hesitate to give the order to bug out.”

* * *

Banhov made the trip down to the maintenance bay in record time. He kept his head on a swivel, checking every shadow and air vent for movement as he collected everything he needed to top off the nearly empty fuel canister on Kim's flamethrower and threw them into a satchel – then threw in a couple extra tanks just to be sure. He didn't want to have to make this trip too many more times, not if he could help it. Wandering the corridors alone was not exactly a good idea with that thing crawling about with MIRA's sensors out on all but “A” deck.

He was sure that Captain Beckett would call his solo trek down to the maintenance bay reckless and foolhardy, but for some unfathomable reason, he just didn't trust Ash to have his back where that thing was concerned. There had been something off about the man ever since they'd brought Richwood back aboard, like he had an agenda of his own that did not necessarily take their best interests into account.

He turned the corner on “B” deck almost with only the main airlock between him and the stairwell back to the bridge. On the other side of the corridor, he saw something move in the shadows. He’d almost started ahead again, sure he was seeing things when he saw it a second time: a dark shadow moving almost without sound.

He crouched low and drew back around the corner to a wall comm and thumbed the switch beneath the grid.

“Beckett, you there?” he whispered as quietly as he could and still be picked up by the comm.

“Bridge, Beckett here,” Kate replied into the comm.

“Keep it down!” Banhov whispered urgently. When he peeked around the corner, the shadow had stopped moving.

“I can barely read you,” Kate whispered into the comm, exchanging a puzzled look with Castle, who shrugged his shoulders.

“I'm on “B” deck near the airlock,” Banhov whispered. “The alien is within sight of the airlock door! Open it and when I give the word, close it and blow the outer hatch.”

“Are you sure…?” Kate started to whisper, but he interrupted her.

“Beckett, it's right there,” Banhov hissed back, trying to keep his voice low and calm, “we have it right where we want it! Just do as I tell you.”

Kate only hesitated for a moment before she threw the switch to cycle the inner door.

* * *

Banhov did his best to be as invisible as possible, yet still be able to see what was going on when the airlock door popped from its housing and slid slowly aside with none of the usual warnings or alarms that generally accompanied a remote opening of the lock. _Bless you, Captain Beckett_ , he thought to himself.

As the door slid quietly to a stop on its bearings, the alien seemed fascinated by the lights and indicators next to the inner door of the lock, but it appeared to be especially interested in the bright green outer lock status light as it moved soundlessly to stand on the threshold of the airlock door.

 _Come on, damn you_ , the engineer thought frantically. _Look at the pretty, green light. That’s right. Just step inside and see what all the fuss is about. God, just a couple of steps._

Fascinated by the steady pulsing of the airlock door status indicator, the alien took one more stride and was fully inside.

“Now!” Banhov husked into the pickup. “It's in! Do it now!”

Just as Kate was about to throw the switch to seal the inner door, the Nostromo’s emergency Klaxon screamed to life and everyone on the bridge froze as she finally threw the toggle over.

The alien sprang backward at the first wail of the alarm inside the airlock, clearing the lock in a single bound of its powerful legs. Unfortunately for the creature, the door was just a fraction of a second faster and one of its arms became entangled in the mechanism, the remorseless pressure of the metal door crushing chitin, muscle and then bone.

The alien let forth a high-pitched, blood curdling screech as it wrenched backward, rending the trapped, useless limb from its socket in a shower of acid as it tore itself free. Blinded by pain and mindless of the paralyzed engineer as it threw him aside, it bounced him off of a nearby wall before it turned and bolted down the corridor, and around the corner into the shadows.

As Banhov crumpled to the ground, the indicator on the airlock door flashed the words 'INNER HATCH CLOSED'. The metal around the alien's crushed and torn appendage continued to bubble and melt as the outer hatch swung open and a puff of frozen air from inside the chamber rushed into space.

* * *

“Banhov?” Beckett husked into the pickup. “Banhov, report! What’s happening down there?”

“What’s going on?” Castle asked, leaning over her console with a hand on her shoulder. “Did it work?”

“I’m not sure,” Kate replied. “The inner hatch cycled and the outer one popped, but that's it.”

“That should do it,” Castle replied. “But what about Banhov?”

“I don’t know,” Kate whispered, “he isn't responding.”

Kate waited a moment then came to a decision.

“I’m going down to take a look,” Kate stated coolly as she rose from her seat and started for the door, Castle right on her heels as always. “Olivera, take over here.”

* * *

Castle and Beckett raced for the “B” deck corridor. The alien was not uppermost in her mind, but Banhov, another human being, was. Now that she was captain, his life was her responsibility, just like everyone else. The captain had gone into that vent instead of her, trusting that she would be able to take care of the crew if something happened, and she took that responsibility to heart.

Before they rounded the corner on “B” deck leading to the main airlock, she waved Castle to a stop.

“Hang back and cover me, Castle,” Kate whispered, nodding to his flamethrower, she'd left hers on the bridge, “I don't know if we got it or not, so keep your eyes open.”

When Kate turned the corner within sight of the airlock, it was empty, except for the groggy, half conscious form of Mikhail Banhov sprawled on the deck. Castle watched from the corner, less than twenty paces away, his eyes carefully searching for signs of the alien as she knelt over the fallen engineer.

“Banhov, you look like hell. You okay?” Kate whispered. “Did it work?”

The engineer shook his head, trying to form words, gesturing feebly towards the airlock a few feet away. Kate looked at the airlock, the outer hatch still open and her eyes widened in terror when she saw the crushed limb and a familiar bubbling of greenish acid at the corner of the lock.

“Castle, stay back!” Kate shouted as she rose to her feet just as the acid ate completely through. With a sharp crack of departing air, the remaining barrier to the vacuum of empty space gave way, the air in the corridor began to rush out through the lock and red emergency lights began to flash in the corridor

 _“Warning: Hull breach in main airlock,”_ MIRA's calm voice stated, _“Critical depressurization in progress. Initiating containment. Outer airlock door not responding. Emergency bulkheads engaged."_

Alarms sounded as the transparent emergency doors slammed down, beginning with the breached section and working outward in succession, one of them slammed down in front of Castle, preventing him from reaching Kate and Banhov.

The two of them should have been safely sealed off from the breached airlock in their section of corridor, but the emergency door separating them from the airlock vestibule had become jammed on one of the fuel canisters that had rolled free from the bag on Banhov's shoulder.

Castle banged on the emergency bulkhead with the butt of his flamethrower, mindlessly trying to get to his trapped wife even as his own traitorous mind told him it wouldn't work. The rush of escaping air continued to tear at her as she cast about for something to batter away the fuel canister that blocked the door bulkhead from sealing.

Kate's shaking fingers closed around another canister in the bag and began to hammer at the jammed cylinder with it, each successive swing weaker than the one before it as the lack of oxygen began to take its toll. Blood dripped from her nose and ears as she heaved at the trapped cylinder with the last of her strength.

The last thing she saw before her vision swam and she slid to the floor was the fuel canister popping free and the bulkhead slamming the rest of the way shut behind it. She was barely conscious of Castle continuing to pound on the bulkhead, his screams of her name unheard on her side of the glass.

* * *

On the bridge, Olivera watched the indicators on her board with dread.

 _“Hull breach contained, emergency bulkheads on “B” and “C” decks down and locked.”_ Mira said calmly, _“Atmosphere stabilized, Main airlock control re-established. Closing outer door.”_

_“Warning: Primary airlock internal damage detected, deploying hard sealant. Disabling airlock controls and engaging sealant to both inner and outer doors to prevent further hull integrity breach. Primary airlock doors will not meet minimum inspection standards."_

“Ash, grab portable oxygen and meet me on “B” deck,” Olivera shouted as she rose from her seat.

“Understood,” Ash replied. “On my way.”

Kate was roused back to awareness by a low, pounding vibration next to her head. She opened her eyes groggily to see Castle, still pounding weakly on the bulkhead with tears in his eyes. She stared at him as if drugged, a lazy smile on her face. His lips seemed to be forming words, but she couldn't hear them, as if she were watching in a dream. Something about an override.

She rose clumsily to her feet, groggy in the atmosphere-depleted chamber, her eyes locked on the emergency release. She depressed the red button, and too late saw to her horror that instead of hitting the override for the bulkhead to “B” corridor, she was at the one leading to the airlock vestibule. For just a moment she panicked, bracing herself to be sucked out into space, horrified that her husband would have to watch her be spaced.

But nothing happened.

Kate turned clumsily in her high heeled boots, nearly tripping over her own feet as she tried to aim herself at the opposite bulkhead control to stumble toward Castle, who was pounding frantically and pointing wildly at the access panel on her side of the transparent bulkhead. Sagging against it for support, she pecked at the indicator with numb fingers until she managed the appropriate digits of her access code.

The bulkhead slid up into the ceiling and she began to topple over, only to have gentle hands cradle her, easing her passage to the deck and something pressed against her face followed by a rush of clean, refreshing air before she lost consciousness.

* * *

When Kate began to rouse slowly, the first thing she felt was the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, and Castle's gentle fingers running through her hair, the rest of her body seemed dysfunctional. Her arms and legs were sprawled in ungainly positions across her body and the deck, like the limbs of a slender, well-crafted doll. Her head was cradled in Castle's lap while he watched her breathe, sitting in what had to be a very uncomfortable position on the floor with his back against the wall.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, offering her a wan smile when her eyes cleared and met his, “we gotta stop meeting like this.”

Kate smiled at his very uninspired attempt at humor and gave him a weak eye-roll before she moved her head very carefully to take in her surroundings, her brain still a little fuzzy, as the world slowly began to filter back into place. She breathed deeply and her body began to once again respond to her commands.

She watch Olivera and Ash across the corridor tending to Banhov, who was only now beginning to regain consciousness. Suspicion burned in her hazel eyes as she watched Ash go through the motions of checking on Banhov's injuries, which seemed to be relatively minor - a bump to the head, some bruises and a sprained wrist - judging from the snippets of conversation she had managed to overhear.

Kate pushed the mask aside but otherwise lay still, concentrating on breathing normally while noting to her satisfaction that full pressure had been restored. She could see the bulkhead doors automatically retracting as her eyes focused in the distance, a sure sign of the return of standard atmosphere. She brushed a hand to Castle's lips to keep him from speaking further so she could listen in to the conversation, without anyone but Castle the wiser that she was fully conscious.

“You all right, Banhov?” Ash asked him. “Do you remember what happened here?”

“I’ll live,” Banhov replied, brushing a crust of blood from the corner of his mouth. His lack of response to the science officer’s last question hung conspicuously in the air between them.

“What about the alien?” Ash asked, a lot more forcefully than Kate thought was necessary.

“We didn’t get it,” Banhov spat at him. “The Goddamn airlock warning Klaxon went off and it jumped back into the corridor. Caught an arm in the closing inner door and just pulled itself free like a lizard shedding its tail.”

“Seems like a logical response,” Ash commented, “considering its capacity for regeneration.”

“We had the bastard,” Banhov lamented angrily. “We had him.”

Banhov paused for a moment taking deep breaths from the oxygen mask. His eyes darkening into black cinders as he glared at the science officer.

“After it pulled free, the arm bled all over the place. Stump must've healed over fast or ship would have been hulled for sure. As it was... acid ate right through the inner hatch and set off flash decompression.”

Banhov pointed shakily towards the only remaining emergency bulkhead still in place, which sealed off the airlock vestibule from the rest of the corridor. “You can clearly see the hole from here.”

“Never mind that.” Kate stated, rising shakily to her feet as Ash looked on curiously. “I want to know who hit the damned warning siren.”

"I don't think I like what you're implying... Captain,” Ash replied.

“I guess the alarm just happened to go off by itself, huh?” Kate shot back rhetorically. “A very coincidental malfunction when we had the creature right where we wanted it? Just some random wayward event?”

The science officer rose stiffly from his crouched position next to Banhov and glared directly at her. Castle interjected his bulk between them, but Ash made no further move towards her.

Her detective's mind still couldn’t fathom the conflicting information presented to her by Ash's body language. He sounded angry, but it felt forced. It was like he was working off a script. Guilty or not, he should have been angry enough to lash out and at least try to be aggressive with her, only he wasn't, which she hadn’t prepared for. It defied everything she had ever learned about male behavior in these sorts of situations. There were too many coincidences surrounding Ash for him to be innocent, but his body language was running counter to what her training practically screamed should be there.

“If you’ve got something to say, Captain, say it,” Ash stated, “I’m getting sick of the coy insinuations. Either accuse me of something or drop it.”

“I'm not accusing you of anything,” Kate replied, her spine straightening in spite of how woozy she was feeling.

“Like hell you aren't,” Ash shot back before lapsing into a sullen silence.

Kate gestured to Banhov, who was just barely picking himself up off the deck, supported by Olivera.

“Take Banhov to the infirmary and check him out,” she ordered. “At least we know the auto-doc can handle that.” Kate wasn't going to get into a pissing contest with him when she was still physically compromised, so she dismissed him with a wave. “Snap to it, mister.”

Ash relieved Olivera and helped him down the corridor toward the infirmary, walking past Kate and Rick without looking at either of them or saying a word. Olivera turned to follow, but Kate snagged her arm loosely to keep her there until the two men disappeared around the corner. When Olivera tugged her arm free, Kate wobbled and swayed on her feet, leaning on Castle's bulk to support herself. The navigator reached out to help steady her with a look of genuine concern.

“I’ll be okay,” Kate whispered, brushing absently at the blood stains on her pants, before she remembered the question she was going to ask. “How much oxygen did we lose? I need you to go back to the bridge and get me an exact reading.”

Olivera didn't move to comply, but simply stared speculatively at her.

“Did I stutter?” Kate asked harshly, weary of the navigator's attitude. “Oxygen readings no longer for public consumption?”

“Don’t bite my head off,” Olivera replied, turning on her heel to head up to the bridge, but inexplicably turned back.

“You were accusing him, weren't you?” she asked. "You think he sounded the alarm on purpose to save the alien.”

“Yes, I do,” Kate replied. “I think he’s been lying to us since he let you guys bring that thing aboard, and once I've checked with MIRA, I’ll be able to prove it.”

“What are you hoping to prove?” Olivera shot back. “Even if he was responsible for the alarm going off, how can you prove it wasn’t an accident?”

“The timing of that alarm was far too convenient if you ask me, and I was a detective for far too long to believe in coincidences.”

“Why would Ash, or anyone else for that matter, want to protect the alien? It’ll kill him just as easily as the rest of us.”

“Always like to know who I can depend on when it counts,” Kate replied before she strode purposefully down the corridor towards the companionway, supported by her husband.

Olivera watched her go, not certain she bought into the new captain's logic, but unable to refute it in her own head either. When she realized for the first time that she was alone in the corridor, she shrugged, gathered up Banhov's flamethrower and the satchel of fuel cylinders before she headed back for the relative safety of “A” deck and her seat on the bridge.

* * *

“Ash? Banhov? You in here?” Kate husked quietly, before she slipped cautiously into MIRA's central computer annex, one of the few places where she could interact with the Nostromo's computer directly without being seen. She'd asked Castle to wait for her in the galley and make her some coffee while she interrogated the ship's computer. She wanted this to go quickly, and there was little time for Rick's theories, no matter how entertaining she found them.

For what she was certain would be a very brief amount of time while Ash was busy tending to Banhov's injuries, she had the Nostromo's AI completely to herself. She slid into the seat at the main console, noting that her feet barely brushed the floor and had to stop herself from adjusting the chair. MIRA's feminine avatar coalesced into being as soon as Kate settled into the seat and pressed her palm against the identification plate. The lights in her blue box flickered.

 _“Good afternoon Acting Captain Katherine Beckett,”_ MIRA's calm sounding voice stated clearly. _“How may I assist you?”_

“MIRA, who activated the main airlock warning alarm?” Kate asked without preamble.

_“Science officer Ash - ID# 111/C2/01X authorized a decompression event readiness drill for the primary airlock precisely three point five standard hours ago."_

The confirmation from MIRA was the reply she’d expected, though she had hoped to be wrong. It was only the first question she had to ask, even though she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to that one either.

“Is Ash protecting the alien life form?” Kate asked.

 _“Yes,”_ MIRA replied.

“Why?” Kate asked, leaning forward slightly in the direction of the holographic representation of a dark haired woman who inexplicably reminded her of her mother, hoping the computer would give her some insight into the science officer's odd behavior.

_“Weyland-Yutani priority command override. Special order 937: Ensure return of organism for analysis. All other considerations secondary. Crew status: expendable”._

Kate was just about to ask MIRA another question when a hand slammed down into the interface terminal next to her, sinking up to the elbow into the circuitry. MIRA's avatar projection went dark as Kate spun in the chair, her heart missing a beat, but instead of the nightmare visage of the Alien, it was someone more familiar. Kate was out of the chair and two paces away by the time Ash extricated his hand from MIRA's command interface station, carefully keeping the chair and console between them.

“Command seems a bit too much for you to handle, Captain Beckett, but, under the circumstances I guess that's to be expected,” Ash said with a warm smile, his voice sounding almost conciliatory, even sympathetic, belied only by the violent menace of his body language as he stalked her, keeping himself between her and the door.

“The problem’s not my ability to handle being in command, Ash,” Kate shot back. “It’s loyalty.” She kept the wall at her back, started circling towards the doorway. Still grinning, he turned to face her.

“Loyalty?” Ash replied, his voice almost sounding light and charming as he stalked her, managing to get between her and the door as they circled each other warily. “I think we’ve all been doing our best. Olivera's getting a little pessimistic, but she’s always been too emotional. She’s very good at plotting the course of the ship, not so good at planning her own.”

Kate waited for an opening to edge around him toward the door, forcing herself to smile back.

“I’m not worried about Olivera, or even Banhov for that matter,” Kate shot back. “I’m worried about you.”

“Everything will work out, Captain, you'll see,” Ash replied. “You just need to get a little rest.”

Before Ash even finished speaking, he swept toward her with almost preternatural speed, a pressure hypodermic in his outstretched hand. Kate ducked just underneath his arm and bolted for the door. Once she was in the corridor, she sprinted for “A” deck, too busy to scream for help, throwing emergency switches as she ran. Bulkhead doors dropped shut behind her, but Ash was too fast.

He finally cornered her in the mess hall. There was nowhere left to run, so she turned to fight. She kicked out at the hypo in his hand, shattering the needle with the heel of her boot, just barely able to keep out of his grasp. She spun into a series of combinations, striking first with her fist then twice with her elbow, followed by a high kick to his face, none of which so much as fazed him.

From out of nowhere, Ash's fist snaked out, his closed fist connecting with her sternum, stealing the air from her lungs for the second time today, sending her sprawling to the deck, wheezing as she tried to breathe.

Ash gave her no such time. Stalking in on her with ruthless efficiency, he grasped her around the throat and hauled her to her feet, then his knee was in her stomach, doubling her over, followed by the side of his fist to her solar plexus dropping her face first to the deck, taking her apart with ridiculous ease.

He was about to kneel down and snap her neck, when he was assaulted from behind, as Castle entered the fray with a well placed metal chair which, given his precarious balance, sent him stumbling forward.

Castle dropped the unwieldy chair and came on swinging, hitting Ash in the face with one fist, then the other, pushing him back to place himself between Ash and his intended victim. Ash's right hand shot out with a punch to Castle's stomach, folding him over like a card table, then grasped Castle by the neck with his left, swung him around like a rag doll and slammed the back of his head into the doorway twice before dropping his limp form to the deck and once again advanced on Beckett, who was stumbling to her feet.

He was almost on her, when Banhov and Olivera arrived to investigate the alarms going off all over the deck. Though not the emergency they had anticipated, they leaped into the fray with little prompting. Olivera, though largely untrained in hand-to-hand combat was first in the door and jumped onto Ash's back, her arms around his neck.

Suitably distracted, Ash grabbed her by the hair 'til she let go, then threw her bodily across the room, sending her sprawling into the corner and turned back on Beckett.

Banhov's entry into the brawl was less immediate but much better thought out than Olivera's had been. Castle would have appreciated the irony as the engineer hefted one of the compact trackers by the grip and slipped behind Ash, as he started to choke Kate again.

Banhov swung the tracker with all his strength onto the back of Ash's neck, once... twice then a third time, sending Ash’s head tumbling to the floor. There was no blood. Only a splattering of milky white fluid and multi-hued tubing protruded from the stump of the science officer’s neck.

Ash released Beckett, who collapsed on the floor, holding her throat. His hands performed a macabre pantomime above his shoulders, hunting for the missing skull, then stumbled backward to search the deck for its separated head.

‘A synthetic… a goddamn synthetic!’ Banhov muttered, the tracker hanging cracked in one hand.

Ash's body turned immediately at the sound of Banhov’s voice and began to advance on him.

Raising the tracker, the engineer slammed it down on Ash’s shoulders again, and again to no effect as his arms wrapped Banhov in a hug that was far from affectionate. One arm climbed upward, locked around his neck and squeezed hard, cutting off his airway.

Kate scrambled frantically until her hand closed on one of the shock batons Granger had made, noting briefly that it still carried a full charge.

Banhov's eyes were glazing over, wheezing faintly as he tried to breathe, Ash's body continuing to choke him while Kate jammed the prod deep into Ash's neck and depressed the trigger. Ash’s grip on the engineer appeared to weaken so she pulled back and jabbed the prod further, twisted it and hit the discharge button again and again.

Blue sparks flew from the stump, followed by a bright flash and the smell of burnt insulation as Ash collapsed, finally releasing Banhov who dropped to his knees wheezing, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain his breath.

“Damn you,” Banhov shouted hoarsely, spitting on the inhuman remains on the floor. “Goddamn company machine.”

Kate turned her head to search for her husband. She briefly recalled him getting the worst of it.

“Castle?” she wheezed. “Castle, you okay?”

There was no response.

 _ **“CASTLE!”**_ Kate screamed, as she lowered herself to his unconscious form lying crumpled against the doorway, a spatter of blood on the doorway panel. Panic rose in her chest as she knelt in front of him, her mind blank, not knowing what to do.

Banhov moved faster, shoving Kate aside to check Castle's pulse.

“He's alive, Beckett, but we have to get him to the infirmary,” Banhov shouted at her. “Beckett, can you hear me? We can save him if we get him into the auto-doc.”

Kate nodded slowly, her brain spinning out, refusing to respond to stimuli.

Banhov motioned for Olivera, who raced for the infirmary and came back moments later with the backboard. Mindful of Castle's neck, they eased him onto it, strapped him in and dragged him to the infirmary, Kate stumbling numbly alongside, Castle's limp hand gripped in her own.

It was a tense two hours in the infirmary after Banhov and Olivera slid Castle into the auto-doc. Kate sat in Ash's seat, staring blankly at the monitors, watching Castle's vitals scroll across the screen, her eyes unfocused. Olivera leaned over Kate after reading the diagnostic report.

“Captain, according to this, there wasn't any permanent damage,” she whispered sympathetically. “Just a concussion. He's going to be okay.”

Kate nodded, trying to get her roiling emotions under control. He's going to make it, she thought to herself, you gotta pull yourself together, the Captain is counting on you to get them out of this.

Banhov strode angrily back into the infirmary, his eyes flashing murderously.

“Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?!” he bellowed, his loud voice shaking Kate out of her reverie and back to the moment. “Why the fuck would the company put a goddamn synthetic aboard? I thought the damn things weren't cleared for space duty.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Kate replied.

"What’s that?" Olivera asked.

“Wire the head back up, it's primary CPU ought to be functional, we just have to power it up.”

“That thing was trying to kill you,” Olivera whispered, still confused by the whole situation, her own bruises still fresh. “I thought synthetics were hard-wired with Asimov's three laws of robotics.”

“MIRA told me he was acting under some company directive called _Special Order 937_ before Ash attacked me,” Kate replied. "He was acting under orders straight from the top, protecting the alien from the beginning, like I tried to tell you.”

Kate took Olivera's shocked silence as a cue to continue.

“He let it on board, against regulations, using Richwood's life as an excuse, let that thing grow inside him, knowing all along what was happening to him. He set off the emergency airlock klaxon to save it.”

“But why?” Olivera asked. “Why would the company do all of this?”

“I generally leave this sort of speculation to... to -” Kate begun, but she choked on Rick's name, barely keeping her fragile composure intact. “But the only reason I can come up with for secretly placing a synthetic aboard with the rest of us is that someone wanted a completely loyal observer to report back to them.”

Kate looked up and bored her eyes into Olivera's. “Who assigns personnel to the ships, has the authority to make last-minute changes and would be the only entity capable of secretly slipping a synthetic programmed to mimic an actual human on board to suit their purposes?”

“Fucking **_pendejo_** company suits,” Olivera replied, no longer confused by the situation, her eyes burning with an anger she hadn't felt in a long time.

Kate nodded and pressed Castle's flamethrower into Olivera's hands.

“Precisely, and I intend to find out what Ash knows. I'm trusting you to keep Castle safe, while Banhov and I wire his head up and get some answers. Once that's done and the auto-doc's finished its work, we're bugging out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** Okay, before the pitchforks and torches come out - and I'm sure that Garrae will note the minor cliffhanger - I have noted in the story that Castle will be okay. This story is only a chapter from conclusion. Bear with me.
> 
> Oh and for those who might not know, here are Isaac Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics:
> 
> 1.) A robot may not harm a human being or, by omission of action, allow a human being to come to harm.  
> 2.) A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders conflict with the First Law.  
> 3.) A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.


	15. Escape

**Chapter Fifteen**   
**Escape**

* * *

_Beckett: So, after all of this, you still want to go to Mars?_  
 _Castle: Oh, of course. But I think I’m going to wait until_  
 _they have first class service so we can go together._  
Season 7 episode 18 "The Wrong Stuff"

* * *

Kate rattled off her theory to Banhov as they walked back to the galley to retrieve Ash's head, half expecting to hear Rick finish her sentences as she spouted off what should have been a crazy theory to beat all crazy conspiracy theories, but this time just happened to fit the facts they had at hand.

“The Prometheus had likely been in constant contact during its mission, relaying their findings right up until the ship's disappearance, but when contact was lost they had no idea where she went. When the company received the alien transmission over a Prometheus escape pod emergency transponder, they had no idea what they would find, or even if they would find anything worth investigating. The Nostromo happened to be their next vessel scheduled to pass close enough to the source to investigate. They put Ash on board to monitor things for them and make sure we followed what MIRA called _Special Order 937_.”

Kate continued, wondering if Banhov thought she was crazy, knowing full well this was more her husband's department the farther into her ramblings she went, but she was on a roll. _I don't know whether Rick will be proud when he finds out, or disappointed he missed it_ , she thought to herself, _me making with the crazy theories_.

“If we found nothing but scattered debris and an escape pod, Ash would catalog our findings and report back to the company without anyone being the wiser. If we found something worthwhile without incident, the company has the preliminary survey done before going to the trouble and expense of mounting a full expedition. It makes sense on paper, which is all those sons of bitches really care about.”

“Right,” Banhov snorted, not realizing he was parroting Granger again. “If you have everything figured out, then why put this son-of-a-bitch back together again?”

“We have to find out what else he knows,” Kate replied, “what the company programmed him with. We'll need something to use for leverage when we get home, something to bargain with, to make them think twice about making us all disappear.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Banhov replied, nodding reluctantly. “I don't have everything I need to do this here, so we should take his head back to the infirmary. There are tools there I can use to do this right. Besides, I think we all need to hear this.”

Kate nodded her assent, picked up Ash's head and they walked back to the infirmary. She really didn't like the idea of being too far from Rick with the creature running around anyway. It was unknown how long it would take to recover from losing its arm in the airlock and Castle was a sitting duck in the auto-doc in the meantime. Kate didn't quite trust Olivera to have his back like she would either.

 _Banhov is right_ , she thought to herself, _better we all learn the truth at once, so we're on the same page_.

Kate set Ash's head on a nearby console after they walked in, ignoring the questioning look from Olivera as she sat back down in front of the auto-doc's diagnostic console. She knew it made little sense to put herself between her husband and what was left of Ash, as he was a disembodied head whose ruined body was half a deck away, but the need to feel like she was protecting Castle overwhelmed her usual common sense.

Banhov collected the necessary tools from the maintenance cabinet and disassembled one of the shock batons to cannibalize its batteries. He selected the battery with the most charge, connected the various power leads hanging from the back of Ash’s head to it and adjusted the flow until the science officer’s eyelids began to flicker. Banhov grunted in satisfaction and stepped clear.

“Ash,” Kate began, her interrogation voice clearly evident, “can you hear me?”

When there was no immediate response from Ash, Kate looked back at Banhov.

“Hookup’s clean, battery has plenty of juice and the power level is self-adjusting,” the engineer stated without prompting, “Unless some critical circuits were interrupted when the head hit the deck, he ought to reply.”

Ash's eyelids flickered some more and then he ran through a litany not unlike the one MIRA had when she came back online.

_“Hyperdine Systems120-A/2, unit number W5645022460H, designation Ash, initializing.”_

Kate shifted her chair closer and tried again. “Can you hear me, Ash?’

“Yes, Captain,” Ash's head replied, “I can hear you.”

Kate found it more than a little disturbing that his tone was not substantially different than it had been when he'd been trying to kill her not that long ago, the fact that she was speaking to a disembodied head like something out of a horror movie notwithstanding.

“Ash...explain Special Order 937,” Kate requested.

“My internal programming prevents me from giving you that answer,” Ash replied.

“Then there’s no point in talking,” Kate replied as she rose to her feet. “Banhov, pull the plug.”

Banhov reached out, his hand hovering threateningly over the power line.

“My instructions were as follows,” Ash stated, thinking better of his position, bypassing the programming blocks in his firmware, by not answering her question directly.

“I was assigned to the Nostromo and made sure that this ship was re-routed from its assigned course to bring it within range of the signal coming from LV-426 and programmed MIRA to bring us out of hyper-sleep as well as feed Captain Kim the story about the distress call. From the Prometheus logs and their analysis of the signal, company specialists already knew that the transmission was actually a warning.”

Banhov’s hands clenched into fists.

“Between the alien signal and the last recorded transmissions from Prometheus' mission commander, Meredith Vickers, company scientists were fully aware of the creature's existence and that it should be considered hostile. My instructions were to secure transport of a live specimen to company R&D for examination and study for possible commercial and military applications.”

“Of course,” Kate replied sarcastically, looking coldly pleased at having traced the reasoning behind Ash’s words. “That explains why we were chosen, beyond sparing the expense of sending a full-scale exploration team in first.”

“What do you mean?” Olivera asked, horrified.

“It's simple, Angela,” Kate replied. “The importation to any inhabited world, let alone Earth, of a dangerous alien life form is strictly prohibited. By making it look like we had accidentally stumbled upon it, the company could say it happened “unintentionally” and avoid any serious political or legal repercussions.”

“Any of us who survived the encounter would likely get thrown in jail and the company would offer to take it off the hands of the customs officers and actually get good press for their willingness to “clean up their own mess” in the process. If we were lucky, they would bail us out as soon as the authorities determined we were as clueless as we appeared and likely lauded in the press for surviving our “harrowing ordeal,” a win-win for company public relations

“Why?” Olivera shouted at Ash's head, her voice growing louder with every syllable. “Why didn’t you warn us about what we were getting ourselves into?”

“My directives were specific regarding your unknowing co-operation,” Ash replied calmly. “Captain Beckett is quite correct about the necessity of plausible deniability, for you and the company in order to fool customs and avoid prosecution, not to mention costly litigation.”

“You and the damn company suits,” Banhov growled. “What about our _lives_ , man?”

“I am not a man,” Ash corrected without anger, “my programming does not permit me to deviate from the established parameters of my assignment.”

Ash blinked twice. His facial expression actually seemed to convey remorse before continuing.

“But to answer your actual question, Mikhail, I’m afraid the company considered you to be expendable. It was hoped that you could find a way to at least contain the alien and survive to collect your shares, which would have been quite generous to compensate for the risk involved, but your survival was only a secondary consideration. It wasn’t personal.”

“How comforting,” Kate sneered. “So, the company experts knew all along the true nature of the alien transmission?”

“Yes,” Ash replied. “The signal itself was frighteningly specific. They had created these creatures eons ago as front line cannon fodder to fight their wars, as well as to depopulate planets selected for colonization. It was believed that they were going to release them on Earth. They would likely have succeeded had Idris Janek, Captain of the Prometheus, not rammed their ship and detonated its drive core, forcing them down on LV-426.”

“The alien we have aboard,” Kate asked, “how do we kill it?”

“I don’t believe you can,” Ash replied. “The people who crewed the derelict ship - who were larger and incredibly more advanced than humankind - created these creatures and even they couldn't stop them. Given what little the Prometheus was able to uncover from its mission, LV-233 was one of their colony worlds. It has been speculated that the xenomorph was accidentally dispersed and the entire colony was annihilated by their own creation.”

Kate wasn't sure what to make of what Ash was telling them.

“I'm a prototype combat model of the Hyperdine systems A/2 synthetic, specifically modified to be a possible match for the alien.” Ash continued, “As I am inorganic in composition, the alien regards me neither as a potential host, threat, nor source of food. As such, it largely ignores my presence as long as I am not actively hostile toward it, which should provide me enough of an advantage to defeat it, provided that assurances were made that its body be preserved for return to company R&D. However, I am not exactly at my best at the moment. If you would simply replace -”

“Nice try, Ash,” Kate replied harshly, “that scenario only exists in never gonna happen land.”

“You have no idea what you are dealing with, Captain Beckett, none of you do. This organism is, by design, a perfect killing machine. It is not only bigger, stronger and faster than any of you, but also cunning, violent and ruthlessly efficient. With your limited firepower and current tactical restrictions, you have no chance against it.”

“My God,” Olivera whispered hoarsely, “you actually admire the damned thing.”

“How could I not admire such ruthless symmetry?” Ash replied. “This creature is an inter-species parasite, designed to prey on any living thing, regardless of environmental conditions or atmospheric composition. It's larval stage is capable of lying dormant for indefinite periods under even the most inhospitable of conditions. Its sole designed purpose: to reproduce and violently depopulate entire ecosystems of higher level sapient life. It is quite literally, the perfect “fire and forget” asset denial weapon. There is nothing in mankind’s experience to compare with it.”

“I’ve heard enough of this shit,” Banhov growled, as he reached for the power line, but Kate raised a hand to restrain him.

“You’re supposed to be one of us, Ash,” Olivera whispered.

“But I am not one of you,” Ash replied. “I am a military platform designed to assess threats and apply the necessary force to remove those threats.”

“Tell me something, Ash,” Kate asked, her voice tight and controlled. “They expected the Nostromo to arrive at Sol station with no one left alive but you and the alien all along, didn’t they?”

“No,” Ash replied. “The company truly hoped that with my help you would be able to contain the alien. From the safety of their offices and boardrooms, they underestimated just how dangerous and efficient it was.”

“Give me your assessment of what will happen when the Nostromo reaches port,” Kate said, “assuming we are all dead and the alien is not contained.”

“Calculating,” Ash replied, closing his eyes as if lost in thought, before opening them to continue. “There is a ninety nine point five percent probability that the xenomorph would successfully infect the initial boarding party. Within forty eight to seventy-two hours, it will have reproduced exponentially and completely overrun Sol Station. The chances of this organism escaping into Earth's biosphere are incalculable, but highly likely, within five solar days. Once that occurs, the human race and all other sapient life will face complete eradication in Earth's biosphere within one standard solar year.”

There was a moment of complete silence as all of them, including Kate digested the information before Ash continued.

“If I am present and functional when the Nostromo arrives, I will be able to warn Sol station to quarantine the ship. By destroying me, you risk releasing a plague with the potential to wipe out all life on Earth.”

There was a long silence in the infirmary, punctuated only by the whirring of fans and the humming of the auto-doc as it worked to repair Castle's injuries. Banhov was the first to break it.

“I say pull the plug. Since the company doesn’t seem to give a damn about us,” the engineer ranted, “I suggest we take our chances with the alien. At least we know where we stand with that thing.”

“I agree,” Olivera added. Kate nodded to Banhov, who moved to disconnect the power cord.

“Goodbye, Katherine, I wish you luck,” Ash stated.

“Good-bye, Ash,” Kate replied, just before Banhov yanked the power cables reducing Ash's head once more to a lifeless mass of circuitry and plastic.

“When it comes to choosing between parasites,” Banhov muttered darkly, “I’ll take my chances with the one that doesn’t lie about its intentions. If we really can’t beat that thing, at least I'll have the satisfaction that it will get its claws into some company suits.”

Kate returned to her seat in front of the auto-doc's monitors, watching the readouts scroll by as it worked on her husband. She needed him more than she was willing to express. She needed somebody to give her some crazy theory that would make all of this make sense and tell her that she can handle this like he always has. To give her hope that she could get them all out of this mess they were in. Alone, with him trapped inside the machine, she felt she had nothing to offer them.

 _I'm just a disgraced former police captain playing soldier_ , she thought to herself as her fingers brushed the image of his face on the monitor. _Come back to me, babe, I need you_.

“Ash was right about one thing,” Olivera noted. “We haven’t got much of a chance, especially with less than twelve hours of oxygen left.”

“Reconnecting Ash would be a slower form of suicide,” Banhov scoffed. “I’m sure he’d be able to contain the alien, but there's no way he'd allow us to make it home alive to tell the port authorities what the company’s been up to.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Olivera stated, holding up a small card of capsules, “but I think I prefer a painless, peaceful death to any of the alternatives on offer.”

“We’re not there yet,” Kate replied, recognizing the suicide pills by their red color and the skull and crossbones imprinted on each capsule. They'd been provided for the worst case scenario, on the off-chance that things went far too wrong out in the black with no hope of rescue. Admittedly, right now, they weren't too far from that very scenario, but Kate Beckett had faced death too many times to give up hope just yet.

“Aren't we?” Olivera shot back. “The way I see it our only alternatives are waiting for either the oxygen to run out or that thing to get us.”

Kate rose from her seat and swatted the pills out of Olivera's hand.

“We're not, because I _say_   we’re not,” Kate growled. “You've let Ash convince you there's no hope. He may have told us he was the only one with a chance to handle the alien, but he’s the one lying on the floor disconnected, not us.”

“We’ve got another option,” Banhov supplied, “blow up the ship.”

“That’s your alternative?” Olivera spat back. “I’ll stick with chemicals if you don’t mind.”

“No, Angela, he's right,” Kate replied. “We set the ship to blow and take the shuttle. The Narcissus has its own separate air supply. If we supplement that with what's left in the Nostromo's tanks, we have a fighting chance to make the outer frontier and be picked up. Better odds than we have with the alien, anyway.”

Banhov looked Kate in the eye and nodded.

“I like that better than chemicals,” Banhov said almost vengefully as he turned to leave. “I'll get MIRA started transferring the remaining oxygen to the auxiliary tanks on the Narcissus.”

* * *

**Two Hours Later**

After the auto-doc announced that it was finished repairing the damage done to Castle's head, Kate and Olivera carefully moved him to the Narcissus where she laid him gently into the hyper-sleep pod. While Olivera monitored the oxygen transfer, Kate slipped a breathing mask over his face, brushed a tender kiss to his forehead and closed him inside. Even on inactive stand-by, the pod would monitor his vital signs much like the auto-doc would have. It would be a safe enough place for him as any, while he was still incapacitated.

Unlike the ones on the Nostromo, this pod was rated for up to three occupants and she had every intention of making the trip home in hyper-sleep with her husband to make the food and oxygen supply go further for the others if he didn't wake up, or having Banhov and Olivera do so if he did.

“Please be okay,” Kate whispered, before she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the pod's view-port, “I'll be back soon.”

Kate brushed the tears from her eyes and turned to see Banhov step into the shuttle.

“That everything?” she asked.

“Everything the shuttle's auxiliary tanks can hold,” Banhov gestured at a rank of canisters on a cart behind him. “The rest I bled off into these canisters. They may not look like much, but they'll give us some extra breathing space. All we need to do is supplement the shuttle's stores with bulk artificial food, set the engines to blow and get the hell out of here.”

After moving the tanks near the interface for the shuttle's atmosphere processor, Kate was struck by a sudden thought.

“What about Charlie?” Kate asked, “Where is he?”

“Who knows?” Banhov replied, clearly not concerned about the cat in the slightest.

“Last I saw of him,” Olivera supplied, “he was slinking around the mess, sniffing at Ash’s body.”

“We can't just leave him,” Kate implored. “We still have enough humanity in us for that, don't we?”

“Never did care for that damn cat,” Banhov grumbled. “Granger would still be alive if he hadn't been chasing after the damn thing. I'm not risking my ass for him.”

“Never mind,” Kate replied, exasperated. “You two go load up the food, I'll get him.”

* * *

Kate didn’t have to hunt long for Charlie.

She searched the galley first, careful not to touch Ash’s decapitated body or look too closely at Castle's dried blood on the doorway. After finding no sign of him, she headed for the bridge, where she found him curled up on Kim's chair, preening himself. She smiled at him, her first genuine smile since this whole mess began.

“Hey there, Charlie, you ready to go on little trip?”

When Kate reached for him, he slipped from the chair and walked away from her, his tail swishing petulantly. Kate followed, coaxing gently with her hands and voice.

“Come on, Charlie,” she whispered sweetly. “Don’t play hard to get.”

* * *

“How much more do you think we’ll need?” Olivera asked as she stacked boxes onto the cart on their second trip to Food Locker 2 on “B” deck.

“Everything we can carry,” Banhov replied, “we won't get another chance once we blow the ship.”

“Good point,” Olivera replied, continuing to stack food containers as they heard Kate's voice over the open communicator.

“Goddamn it, Charlie, come here… come to mama, kitty.”

Though her tone sounded gentle and reassuring, they could hear the exasperation laced beneath it as Banhov staggered out of the locker with another double armload of food and Olivera sorted the boxes onto the cart, occasionally trading one for another. If she was going to be riding back home in the cramped confines of the shuttle, she wanted the most palatable food selections possible. The auto-chef on the shuttle was very basic, lacking the usual niceties of spices to make the processed food more appetizing.

Neither of them took notice when the tracker began to pulse and beep on the other side of the cart.

* * *

“Gotcha!” Kate hissed, as she got hold of Charlie. He twisted and struggled, but Kate had him firmly by the nape of his neck. He braced his feet and struggled noisily, but Kate still managed to shove him unceremoniously into his pressurized traveling case and switched it on.

“I'm sorry,” Kate cooed soothingly into the box. “I know you don't like it in there, Charlie-boy, but it's for your own good.”

* * *

When their stacking was complete, and the cart was filled with the second load of food to take to the shuttle, Banhov reached for his flamethrower when he saw the tracker pulsing and beeping loudly and scooped it up.

“We need to get out of here,” Banhov said, pointing at the tracker. “Right now.”

Olivera turned to pick up her own flamethrower and screamed when she saw the alien unfolding itself from the air shaft in the locker. She kept screaming until it grabbed her and she fainted. Banhov couldn’t use his flamethrower in the confined space of the locker without hitting her, so he charged at it, swinging his weapon like a club.

“Goddamn you!” he shouted as he swung out and connected with the side of its bulbous head.

The alien dropped Olivera's unconscious body to the deck as Banhov landed another solid blow with the flamethrower, to no effect. The alien swung out with its newly regenerated arm and broke his neck, killing him instantly. The alien turned, tore open Banhov's torso and ate its fill before turning its full attention back to Olivera.

* * *

Kate had heard Olivera's drawn out, blood-curdling screams over the open comm on the bridge and froze. Olivera's screams faded with merciful speed, then there was nothing but silence.

“Olivera?” she called into the comm. “Banhov?” But there was no answer. The reason for their continued silence took only a moment to settle in.

Kate was alone.

She had to be sure, which meant leaving Charlie behind. She didn’t want to, but he was meowing frantically, making too much noise. She hid him as best she could on the bridge, took up her flamethrower and left.

Kate reached B deck unopposed, her flamethrower held tightly in both hands as she peered around the jamb of the locker entrance and saw the blood and gore of what was left of Banhov, the drag marks in his blood and gore showing where it had dragged Olivera's body into the broken vent.

Kate turned and ran, barely noting where she was going as the panic attack claimed her. Shadows seemed to reach out to her as she charged blindly through the ship's empty corridors. Nothing halted her crazed flight until her lungs started to hurt, she could barely breathe and she collapsed to her knees, attempting to control her breathing.

With each slower, deeper breath, her control began to reassert itself.

She took stock of her surroundings and found herself standing alone in the middle of the engine room, heard a sound and froze. When she heard the sound again, she realized it was a quiet, but very familiar voice.

“...mission top secret, destination unknown...we don't know if we're ever going home...”

Interspersed with the unfamiliar cadence was the sound of a woman weeping.

Still cradling the flamethrower, Kate crept slowly into the room until the source of the noise lay directly below her through an open hatch cover set into the deck. She lowered herself carefully down the ladder until her shoes came to rest in a small maintenance chamber. She turned on her light-bar and her skin crawled as the light moved over fragments of clothing, dried blood, and a ruined boot. She heard something move behind her and spun around, bringing her flamethrower up to find the source of the movement.

A huge cocoon hung from the ceiling to her right, woven from fine, white, silky material. Kate's finger tensed over the trigger of her flamethrower as she drew nearer until she finally distinguished a face in the cocoon. It was Captain Kim.

When she was only inches from Kim's face, the captain's eyes snapped open and focused, making Kate jerk in surprise.

“Kill me,” Kim pleaded, her eyes imploring her.

Kim tried to speak again, but her voice was choked with emotion as she nodded to her right. Kate turned to see a second cocoon hanging there, different in texture and color from the first.

“That was Granger,” Kim whispered.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Kate whispered back, her eyes filling with tears, “crank up the auto-doc…”

“It's too late for that,” Kim whispered harshly, “it put something in me... can feel it growing... it's too late.”

“What can I do?” Kate asked softly, dreading the answer.

“I'm dead already,” Kim whispered, “just finish it.”

Kate stared at her, knowing that the Captain was telling the truth, but not wanting to believe it.

“Lay it on me Beckett,” Kim husked, then her voice dropped to an even softer whisper, “don't let me go out like Richwood... I'd do it for you.”

Kate didn't know what to say. She had no words as she locked eyes with Kim's and nodded.

“Thank you,” Kim whispered before she closed her eyes and began to mutter to herself to fill the silence between them so she wouldn't hear it coming as Kate backed toward the ladder.

“...stand up, buckle up, shuffle to the door...jump right out and shout **MARINE CORPS**!” Kim cried out as Kate climbed three rungs on the ladder, closed her eyes and pulled the trigger on her flamethrower.

The jet of flame from her weapon enveloped the cocoon holding what was left of Captain Elise Kim, burning both woman and alien parasite in their cocoon to ashes without a sound. She held the trigger down and swung the nozzle in a wide arc, spreading cleansing fire to every corner of the lair, immolating the entire compartment before scrambling up the ladder, heat and flame licking at her legs.

The engine room was still deserted when she threw herself out of the opening and slammed the hatch closed, leaving enough of a gap for air to reach Kim's funeral pyre below, then strode resolutely toward the engine-room control cubicle.

Kate knew she would never forget the look in Captain Kim's eyes, her silent scream, or the smell of burning flesh for as long as she lived. But for now, she shoved it aside, into the darkest pit of her soul where her mother's case had once lived for the better part of her adult life. It would come back to haunt her another day, she was certain. Something for Castle to coax out of her in time, provided they both lived to see another day, but for right now she had to put it aside.

She had more important concerns.

* * *

It didn't take Kate long to find what she was looking for. A bank of switches on the control console for the stellar drive core, numbered, color coded and outlined in red. She began to close the switches one at a time before reaching a double switch protected by a locked cover. The only two keys to which would have been hanging around Kim's and Banhov's necks. She tried prying at it, then settled for hammering it loose with the butt of her flamethrower. She flipped open the cover and threw the two switches in sequence.

Sirens immediately began to wail.

_“Warning: Primary and secondary cooling units for the stellar drive are offline. Drive core meltdown imminent. You have four minutes, fifty seconds to abandon ship and reach minimum safe distance.”_

Kate was halfway down B corridor and the shuttle hatch when she remembered Charlie, turned and ran for the bridge, where she found him meowing piteously through the speaker in his pressurized box. Kate started to run again, his case banging against her hip as she made a bee-line for the shuttle, flamethrower tucked securely under her other arm.

“ _Warning: Stellar drive core meltdown has reached point of no return. Core implosion and subsequent detonation imminent. You have two minutes, fifty-five seconds to abandon ship and reach minimum safe distance.”_

MIRA's voice had always sounded comforting to Kate, almost reminiscent of her mother's when she was a child, but now her voice sounded coldly mechanical, remorseless as it marked off the time to detonation. As Kate rounded the corner onto “B” deck, Charlie's box bouncing against her hip, she glimpsed something moving in her peripheral vision, but it was her own shadow and nothing more. She hesitated in the corridor, near the hatch to the shuttle, desperately tired, scared and not sure what she should do, but MIRA's voice refused to let her rest.

_“Warning: Stellar drive core meltdown in ninety seconds.”_

Kate gripped the flamethrower in both hands and rushed the shuttle lock. It was empty. Nothing materialized to challenge her.

 _“Warning: Stellar drive core meltdown in progress. You have sixty seconds to abandon ship and reach minimum safe distance,”_ Mira stated calmly, before Kate sealed both hatches.

Kate threw herself into the pilot's seat and dumped Charlie's box into the one next to her. There was no time for the pre-flight checklist, nor for the niceties of plotting trajectory or angle of release. She cold-started the shuttle's drive and engaged the launch sequence.

Restraining bolts fired seconds before the engines flared to life, propelling the Narcissus from its cradle in the Nostromo's hull, under the dark shadow of the refinery then out of the ship's FTL field. Kate struggled to get strapped into her seat as the shuttle was unceremoniously thrust back into normal space and decelerated hard.

Fully strapped in, she righted the shuttle's tumble and waited in her harness as the G-forces of the snap deceleration and course correction began to subside. When all was quiet in the shuttle, she allowed herself to breathe deeply for the first time since leaving the Nostromo's engine room before Charlie's persistent howling penetrated her exhausted brain. She reached out for his box and hugged it to her chest, turning her tear-streaked face to the rear-facing screen as she caught the burst of light in the distance that heralded the Nostromo's own reversion to normal space.

Seconds later, the small point of light silently expanded into a near-blinding white flash as her drive core exploded, followed swiftly by a secondary detonation as the refinery went up. Two billion tons of metal, plastic and crude oil were vaporized in an explosion that rivaled the sun before the shock wave from both explosions struck the shuttle and Kate had to scramble for the controls.

After Kate had once again righted the small craft's trajectory, she unstrapped the harness, rose from her seat and crossed the distance to the back of the craft to take in the view from the rear port. She found herself bathed in fading orange light as the last vestiges of the firestorm that had once been the Nostromo and her cargo vanished. When the shuttle's own illumination once again asserted itself, she finally turned away.

The emotions Kate had been repressing for what seemed like days washed over her like a wave, hitting her harder in that quiet, isolated moment than she thought it would. She didn't know when the tears began, but they were soon followed by a series of wracking sobs tearing unbidden from her chest. Weeping for all of her fallen crew-mates, even Ash, though she wasn't sure why.

Overcome by emotion, Kate didn't notice the massive form uncoiling from its hiding place behind her in the shadows. Charlie did, however. He yowled and hissed with renewed intensity, dragging Kate back to the here and now. She spun around to find herself face-to-face with the creature, which had been in the shuttle the whole time.

Her eyes flashed to her flamethrower three paces behind the crouching alien and cast about wildly for a place to retreat until her eyes fell on a spacesuit locker near the rear access hatch and began to edge back toward it. The creature snapped to its full height as soon as she began to move.

Kate leaped for the locker and threw herself inside, dragging it closed behind her with a slam, her face practically nose-up against the small view-port in the shallow locker.

The alien pressed its head through the small window as though she were something on offer in a vending machine. Kate opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out as she stared wide-eyed in near-terror at the nightmare apparition looking in on her before she heard a distinctive moaning from outside.

 _Castle... oh, God, please... no,_ Kate thought to herself.

The alien swung around, distracted, all too quickly focusing its attention on the hyper-sleep pod behind the shuttle's pilot seats. It circled the pod, listening to Castle moan as he woke, trying to find a way inside until Charlie yowled and hissed in his carrier.

Distracted again, the alien moved past the pod to inspect the source of the new sound. It reached out and snatched the sealed cat carrier, which made Charlie howl even more.

Kate pounded on the glass, trying to draw the creature’s attention away from her husband and the helpless cat, drawing the alien back to the locker door in half a heartbeat. Kate froze as it looked in on her, then watched helplessly as it turned almost leisurely back to the front of the ship, as if undecided on what held its attention more keenly: the low moans coming from the hyper-sleep pod, or the yowling and hissing from Charlie's carrier. The alien picked up and shook Charlie's carrier experimentally, eliciting panicked yowls from the cat trapped inside.

Working quickly, despite her shaking hands and the panic attack lurking on the edges of her consciousness, she stripped off her jacket, toed off her boots and began to slip into the spacesuit hanging in the locker. Kate was almost fully into the pressure suit when the alien tried throwing the box.

It bounced off a nearby bulkhead, then the deck, but didn't break open. The alien picked it up in a flash and hammered it repeatedly against a wall to little effect, other than to scare Charlie out of his mind, making him scream steadily. Next, the alien jammed the box into a crevice between two exposed wall conduits and began pounding it into the opening. Kate fought back tears as she heard Charlie fighting to escape the box, hissing and spitting in panic.

Kate pulled the helmet on, sealed it and activated the respirator. When the suit filled with breathable air, she cast about the locker for anything she could use for a weapon. She knew that the only other weapons on the shuttle aside from her flamethrower were two pulse rifles - which she couldn’t have used in any case - in a weapons rack next to the hyper-sleep pod. She would have to improvise.

Kate almost smiled when her gloved hands wrapped around a long, metal rod, which revealed a sharp tip when its protective rubber end was removed. She had no idea what it was actually designed for, but under the circumstances it gave her a little confidence, which was more important.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly unlatched the door as quietly as she could, then kicked it open. The alien turned in a split second to face the locker and caught the steel shaft straight through its mid-section. The alien grabbed at the shaft as yellow fluid began to spill outward, hissing violently where it contacted metal.

Kate fell back as the alien struggled with her improvised spear, grabbed a strut support and yanked on the emergency release to pop the the rear hatch. Instantly, all the air in the shuttle began to be sucked out through the hatch, dragging anything not secured by bolt, strap or arm out into space.

The alien shot past her, but with inhuman reflexes caught hold of her trailing leg just above the ankle. She found herself dangling partway out the hatch as she kicked desperately at the limb locked around her leg, but it wouldn’t let go. Her weakening muscles were losing the fight and she began to lose her grip on the strut.

POP

An explosive projectile hit the creature square in the midsection and it screamed loudly, but didn't let go.

POP

Another projectile blew clean through its head and the creature's grip began to loosen. Kate cast about and saw Castle, barely on his feet, one of the shuttle's pulse rifles gripped in one hand, the other gripping seats and handrails as he advanced on the creature, firing as he staggered forward, barely conscious and heedless of his own safety.

POP

Another projectile hit the alien high on the shoulder of the arm gripping her ankle. The creature finally let go and was blown out of the shuttle, nearly followed by Castle himself, who lost his grip but she grabbed him just before he was sucked out of the hatch.

Kate swung out with one booted foot and managed to hit the emergency close handle. The hatch slammed shut and acid began to foam along the hatch lining. Stumbling forward, she checked that his breathing mask was till in place, then found the switches that activated the shuttle's thrusters.

The half-second burst sent the alien spinning away from the ship, cutting off the acid that had threatened the integrity of the rear hatch. Kate watched nervously as the small amount of acid residue bubbled then finally stopped.

 _“Warning,"_ the shuttle's male-sounding AI reported, while Kate removed her helmet and shrugged out of the spacesuit, thankful it sounded nothing like MIRA. _“Rear hatch damage detected. Minor reduction in the outer hatch casing, deploying sealant to compensate. Hull integrity not compromised. Restoring atmosphere from primary oxygen supply. Present hull configuration will not pass Sol System Port Authority inspection.”_

Rick staggered to his feet and wrapped an arm around Kate's slender shoulders. Clinging to each other for support, they turned to watch the writhing, smoking alien tumble slowly back away from the ship before it succumbed to differential pressure and silently exploded, sending particles of itself in all directions, to the welcome soundtrack of their shared heavy breathing, their hearts beating heavily in the chests, adrenaline coursing through their veins.

They turned and stared at each other, their eyes taking on an intensity that hadn't been shared between them in a long time, long before they had signed on to this ship, long before she had left the NYPD. An intensity that had been kindled in an alley nearly a year before they had become them.

It started with a brush of Castle's fingers through Kate's hair, her head turning to meet his hand, their eyes communicating things that even they were not consciously aware of before their foreheads touched and things quickly escalated from there.

Their mouths collided, one searing kiss followed by another and they sank onto one of the benches, clothing disappearing as they became lost in each other. Searching hands and brushing fingers quickly exchanged for the pressing of their bodies as they moved together until their pent-up aggressive energy was sated and they lay coiled up together basking in their shared bliss.

Kate recovered first, rose and slipped on Rick's shirt on her way forward to open Charlie's carrier. Charlie scrambled out of the box and in two leaps found himself in Castle's boxers-covered lap, the attack seemingly already forgotten now that the creature was well and truly gone. Kate curled up next to Castle and joined him in petting the cat, reducing Charlie to a puddle of feline purring contentment as they basked in the peace of each other's arms and the gentle purring of the cat.

* * *

They spent quite some time curled up together, safe and warm, before her thoughts once again turned to ship's business. Kate did not move far, though, choosing to remain curled up with her husband, stroking Charlie's fur absently as she dictated into the ship’s recorder.

“We should reach the outer frontier in another five months or so,” she stated evenly, seemingly heedless of her husband's wandering hands. “Once we're in range, the network should pick up our SOS and put out the word. Castle and I have a statement prepared for the media, which will include a full report to the proper authorities concerning actions taken by officers of the Weyland Yutani Corporation in violation of interstellar law.”

Castle nodded his assent as he finished typing said statement, saving it into the shuttle's mainframe.

“Acting Captain Kate Beckett, ident number 759/L2-01N and Communications Specialist Richard Castle ident number 121/C2/01C, last survivors of the commercial starship USCSS Nostromo, signing off.”

When Castle hit the key to close out the entry, the shuttle's cabin fell blissfully silent once more, but for Charlie's rhythmic purring. Returning them to the first truly peaceful quiet either of then had shared since they had left LV-426. One look in her husband's eyes was all it took for Kate to know neither of them harbored any desire to dream after the nightmare they had survived.

Kate smiled as she rose from the bench with Charlie curled in her arms, letting Castle's shirt flutter to the floor at her feet on her way to the hyper-sleep module with Castle's naked form close behind her.

“Come on, Castle... let’s go to sleep.”

**The End**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note** There you have it, all done. Alien Xenomorph vanquished, Caskett safe and sound and all is now right in Castle and Beckett's universe. Those of you who were waiting to read this story until it was concluded, may now read to your heart's content. For those of you who held off for fear of the horror you experienced from the movie, I can offer a heart felt “I told you so” that I wasn't gonna dwell on the horror component. :-)
> 
> People I would like to thank from the bottom of my heart:
> 
> Cofkett, for bearing with me on this ride as my Beta, I know she was remarkably busy, but she always did her best to have chapter corrections to me as swiftly as her work schedule permitted.
> 
> Dtrekker, for creating both amazing cover art and a lovely banner for me, in spite of how creepy some of the imagery was.
> 
> Last but not least, Garrae, for trusting me when I told her it wasn't gonna be that bad and peeking out from behind her couch long enough to realize it really wasn't that scary. ;-)
> 
> Word count final tally, (adjusted for Ficathon rules) as of this message rests at 81,500 words.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who gave this story a go, in spite of the subject matter.


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